


The Bluff

by byebands



Category: American Assassin (2017), American Assassin (movie)
Genre: Assassins, CIA agents - Freeform, Deceit, Deception, F/M, Fighting, Lies, Missions, Sarcasm, So much sarcasm it breaks my heart, Treachery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-07 23:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12851412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byebands/pseuds/byebands
Summary: Mitch Rapp is a highly trained CIA operative. And a huge pain in the organizations ass. As a member of the elite (and unknown) Orion Team, Mitch causes quite the headache for CIA Assistant Director, Irene Kennedy and his trainer Stan Hurley. The two have decided things must change, and Mitch must be calmed down. With the help of Reader, they hope they have things figured out.orMitch Rapp is a little shit, and everyone is trying to wrangle him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally on my tumblr and I made the executive decision to move it here as well. Feel free to leave feedback, good bad or indifferent.

The smell of bitter coffee was prominent in the small office mixing with the subtler scent of whatever air freshener hung in the corner above the door. Stan thought, distantly, that it may perhaps be vanilla. Then again, that could be the smell of the creamer that Irene had generously poured into her cup turning the color of the coffee from tar to mud. She raised the cup for a drink as Stan looked at his watch.

_12:14 PM_

“Are we ever going to get this meeting started?” Stan questioned Irene, setting his own cup down on the edge of her desk. “I’ve been sitting in here for ten fuckin’ minutes. I’ve got places to be, Irene. People to see, things to do. I can’t sit in here all day with my thumb up my ass.”

Licking her lips to get the taste of (the still awful) coffee off of them, Irene lifted her eyes to look at the clock on the wall behind Stan Hurley. She gave a small smirk, keeping mum.

“Oh for heaven's sake,” Stan huffed, pushing to stand from his seat.

Irene narrowed her eyes at him, “sit Stan.” Her tone was flat but demanding. Stan sat.

Returning her attention to the clock, Irene smiled.

_12:15 PM_

“The meeting was scheduled for 12:15. You arrived early, and therefore I had no obligation to speak to you. Now, I do.”

Stan got visibly annoyed, pursing his lips into a thin line. He leaned his back against the chair, crossing his left knee over his right. “What is this meeting for, Irene? My previous statement still stands. I still have things to do and people to see.”

Irene picked a file up from her desk, holding it out to Stan as she sipped from her cup.   
Stan read the name on the top of the folder and rolled his eyes, trying to keep from groaning audibly. “Why is every meeting we have about him?”

Irene shifted her position in her chair to be more comfortable, holding her mug with two hands. “You know why, Stan.”

Taking a deep breath, Stan began thumbing through the folder, huffing a bit. “I know all of this shit.” He closed it, dropping it to Irene’s desk with a dull thud. “What did he do now that warrants me dragging my ass all of the way down here to drink shitty coffee with you?” Stan picked his cup up, taking a swallow of the liquid.

Irene set her cup down and leaned forward, crossing her hands in front of her, resting her forearms against her desk. “He is a risk, Stan. And we fe-”

Stan cut her off with curt laugh. “Are you about to tell /me/ that this kid is a risk, Irene? I have been saying that since day. Fucking. One.” Stan jabbed his finger against the folder for emphasis. “I knew he was a risk, and I told you not to take him in. Told you not to give him to me. It is not my fault you did the opposite.” Stan crossed his arms over his chest. “If you’re about to say I need to crack down on him harder, save your breath. I’m doing my best with that sonovabitch, who if you couldn’t guess, doesn’t listen to more than a tenth of what I say.”

Irene took a deep breath, shaking her head. “If you would have let me finish I would have said ‘and we feel it is necessary to bring in reinforcements to help you’.”

Stan nearly dropped his mouth in shock at her. “I don’t need reinforcements, Irene. What I need is to get Mitch Rapp out of my fucking hair. I don’t have that much left!” Stan gestured to his head with his right hand, resting the elbow of his left on the arm of the chair. “This little asshole has single handedly raised my blood pressure to the point where I need pills. Can you believe that? Pills, Irene. Like the kind given to Grandad’s at the nursing home.”

Irene bit on her lips to keep from snickering at him. “Aren’t you a Grandad, Stan?”

He pointed the index finger of his right hand at her, narrowing his eyes. “You’re pushing me Irene.”

Irene unfolded and then refolded her hands together. “Stan, we’re sending in a handler. For fear of Mitch actually killing you from aggravation, we think you need someone else on your team.”

“I can handle him myself,” Stan said bitterly.

“You just told me you need him out of your hair, and that he’s giving you high blood pressure.” Irene reminded Stan.

“I say those things out of frustration. Every time I have to get into a monkey suit and come down here to talk to you about that little prick I harbor a bit more resentment for him. That, however, does not mean I am done trying with him. He is my own personal vendetta. I do not want you sending in one of your uppity, sniveling fresh-out-of-the-womb Bureau babies to try and keep track of that kid. Just, give me a fucking higher powered taser. Perhaps an actual cattle prod to deal with him. He’ll get his ass in check.”

Irene raised her hand to her forehead, rubbing it with the pads of her first three fingers. “Stan, you’re not cattle prodding Mitch into submission.”

“Absolutely not, I’m going to cattle prod him until he shits his pants. And then he won’t continue making mistakes. Like how you have to rub a dog’s nose in it’s own piss so it stops going in the house.”

Irene’s eyes widened in shock. “Stan! You’re not going to do that.”

Irene swore she saw disappointment flash in Stan’s eyes. She had to take in a deep breath for a count of five seconds, releasing it for three before she could speak. “Stan, electrocuting him will likely make his behavior worse.”

Stan shrugged, “so? I would enjoy it.”

“The whole point -” Irene had to catch herself, her voice had risen. “The whole point of this conversation is for us to, together, decide the best course of action to curb Mitch’s wayward behavior. Not make it worse and give you some sadistic pleasure.”

“Please don’t make it seem like I would get off on torturing the kid. Because, while true, it’s uncomfortable.” Stan sighed heavily. “You’ve decided you’re bringing in a Bureau baby on your own, Irene. How is that us coming up with the best course of action “together”?”

Irene rolled her eyes. “Stop calling them ‘Bureau babies’ please, Stan?”

Stan nearly shook his head no, but stopped himself. “What would you prefer? CIA Cunts? I like that one too.”

Irene flared her nostrils in anger, taking a deeper breath. “Stan, we’re bringing in a handler. But I have chosen to allow you to help me decide what this handlers duties are.”

“Staying the fuck away, how’s that sound?”

“We have two really good candidates for this position, Stan. One is a newly recruited trainee, similar to Mitch when he first started here. He’s a little timid, but I think he’d work decently.” Irene picked up a file and held it out to Stan, who promptly tossed it back onto her desk. “The other is a second year field agent. Started early, graduated top of the class, follows commands.” Irene picked up the final file from her desk and offered it to Stan. He read the name at the top of the folder, narrowing his eyes dangerously. “They’re a she?” He asked, opening the file. He thumbed through it for a second before setting it down on his lap. “She’s pretty. She’ll be trouble though, Irene. You know how Mitch is when it comes to women.”

Irene sighed, “which is why I’m leaning towards her.”

Stan took a moment of silence, holding his hands together against his lips in a mock prayer position. “Why don’t we assign someone else to him too? Just really drain the agencies pocket books?”

Irene sighed, “I think two will be enough.” She sipped her coffee before raising an eyebrow. “But maybe two directly assigned to him wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve ever come up with Stan.”

Stan rolled his eyes, shaking his head a bit. “It wasn’t a real idea, Irene. I was being what you’d call ‘a smartass’.”

Irene was going to say something but caught herself.

“So, how do you plan on using this chick?” Stan asked, indicating the folder in his lap.

“That’s why you’re here Stan,” Irene said. She resumed her comfortable, leaned back position in her chair.

 

- 

 

Two hours of brainstorming and logistics later, Stan and Irene had formed their plan. They had talked all of their options over, some causing Stan to curse in frustration. Others making Irene groan in annoyance. When they’d narrowed down their course of action, they made sure it was the best one. The one that would help Mitch the most.

They both sure as hell hoped so. And, though neither would admit it, they were both a little worried. There was a lot of room for error.

“Would you go refill our coffees?” Irene asked, holding her cup out to Stan while tapping at her keyboard with her other hand.

“I’m not your errand boy. Ask your assistant to do it again. She looked eager to please.” Stan went to pick his cup up, realizing his was empty as well. He huffed, pushing up from the chair he felt like he was growing a part of. “I’ll be back.” He snatched Irene’s cup from her outstretched hand, holding it by the handle in the same hand as his own cup. He pulled the door open and nearly walked into the woman with her fist raised to knock.

“Oh,” Stan said a little startled. “Did you invite her up, Irene?”

Irene nodded and Stan moved out of the way letting the woman in. She gave him a small smile before taking a seat in one of the two chairs in front of Irene’s desk. She crossed her legs, and rest her hands on her knee. “Hello, Ms. Kennedy.” She said, smiling politer to Irene than she had to Stan.

Stan had set the mugs on the desk of Irene’s assistant and returned to her office, shutting the door behind him. “You were fast.” Irene said, giving her attention to the new addition to her and Stan’s meeting. “I just sent the message to have you be sent up, what, forty seconds ago?”

The new addition gave a shrug, “I was already up here ma’am. You said you figured you’d want to see me around 2:15, perhaps 2:30. It’s 2:20 -” she looked down at her watch. “2:21, actually, so. I thought I’d head up. I’m sorry if I’m early.”

Stan snorted a laugh, “if she told you 2:15 you’re late. If she told you 2:30 well, don’t expect her to talk to you until then. She likes to shove it down your throat that you’ve got to follow her orders, so she’ll sit in silence for ten fuckin’ minutes to piss you off.”

Irene let out a deep breath, “watch the way you talk Stan.” She turned her attention to the woman, smiling sweetly. “Thank you for being prompt, Olivia. Good to see you.”

Olivia gave Irene a gentle nod, gripping her knee a bit.

“You can relax, Olivia. I have not called you up here on anything terrible. You don’t have to look so rigid.” She glanced at Stan. “Don’t make a remark.”

Olivia relaxed back against the chair, loosening the grip on her knee. “Why may I ask, am I here then, ma’am?”

Irene smiled, “we have an assignment for you, Olivia. You’ve proven yourself more than apt in the field, and during your internship during college your leaders all commended you highly. We feel that you would be the most fitting for this - role, if you will.”  
Stan rolled his eyes at Irene calling the assignment a role, but felt it nearly appropriate. “This is going to make her such a good actress, I’ll nominate her for a fucking academy award, Irene. Since this is a ‘role’.”

Olivia gave the both of them a confused look, uncrossing her legs to recross them again this time opposite. “What do you mean I’ll have to be a good actress Mr.-?”

“Stan.”  
“Mr. Stan?” Olivia asked, furrowing her brows.   
“No, my last name is Hurley but you’re to call me Stan. Thought that was obvious, are we sure she’s as smart as you say Irene?”

Irene gave Stan an exhausted look. “Olivia, we’re assigning you as a handler - of sorts.” Irene began, leaning forward to pick up Mitch’s file. “Here’s your charge,” Irene held the file out to Olivia, who took it immediately.

She opened it and began reading the front page, here eyes stopping on the picture of the attractive agent before hurrying over the information provided.

**_Name: Mitch Rapp_ **

**_Age: 23 Years_ **

**_D.O.B: 10 . 26 . 1994 - Charlotte, North Carolina_ **

**_Height: 5’10_ **

**_Weight: 180 LBS_ **

**_Education: Degree in international business, Syracuse University._ **

**_Languages: Arabic, French, German, Italian, Persian._ **

**_Alias: (redacted)_ **

**_Lead: Stan Hurley_ **

**_Training: Weapons, Marksmanship, Hand-To-Hand Combat, Explosives._ **

**_Department: (redacted)_ **

**_Operations: (redacted)_ **

**_Place of Residence: (redacted)_ **

**_Handler: (no known)_ **

**_Level Of Clearance: (redacted)_ **

 

Olivia looked up at Irene, sighing a bit. “I’m going to be watching after someone my own age?” She closed the file, resting it against her leg.

Irene shook her head, “not exactly.” She cleared her throat. “You’re going to be.. Handling him. You’re going to be in charge of making sure he doesn’t get himself into any more… lets just call it trouble.”

“So I’m going to be made to babysit him? If he’s so highly trained why am I necessary? I don’t feel like someone like him, a troublemaker, would like someone holding his hand in the field.”

Stan laughed, “not exactly either. You’re not going in the field with him, Olivia. And you won’t be holding his hand and walking him along.”

“What will I be doing?” Olivia asked, opening the file again to look over the rest of the pages.

“Well,” Stan started, a smarmy grin stretching across his thin lips.


	2. One: The Plan.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan, Irene and Olivia arrive to Paris to begin their “mission” of sorts. Olivia is completely shocked to find out what that entails, and mischief occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically the second part, however it's chapter one because the first part was simply the prologue. I do not know how many chapters there will be of this fic, however I know that there will be quite a few. This fic gives me a headache while I write it, however I love it the moment a chapter is finished being written. I hope that you, as well, love it.

Stan held the door to the hotel room open for Irene and Olivia, his other hand clutched tightly around the handle of his suitcase. The two women nodded their thanks as they entered the room, dropping their own bags onto the floor. The door shut loudly behind them, and Stan threw the lock in place. “Welcome to Paris,” Stan called after setting his suitcase down next to theirs. 

Olivia gave a soft smile, taking a seat on the edge of the farthest mattress. Irene took a seat on the other, and Stan begrudgingly pulled a chair away from the small table in the corner of the room, moving it in front of the two beds before taking a seat. 

“So,” Olivia spoke up, knotting her hands in her lap. “Are the two of you ready to tell me what we’re doing in Paris?” 

Irene nodded, “you’re here to meet your assignment Olivia.” Irene crossed her leg over the other, resting her hands on her knee. “You know you’re to be a handler, of sorts. Not exactly the conventional type, but a handler. And you know that your assignment is… difficult. Would that be a good word, Stan?” 

“I’d choose ‘pain-in-the-fucking-ass’, but sure. Use difficult.” Stan said with a smile.

Irene took a deep breath. Olivia could tell that Stan and Irene should not be spending as much time together as they were. “Since your assignment is  _ difficult _ , we know conventional methods will be useless. So, we’ve brought you to Paris. Where he will be on a fake assignment that Stan and I have created.”

Olivia took a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest. “What am I supposed to do? Come in and be his partner or something?” 

Stan shook his head, chuckling a bit. “Not exactly.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “You’re actually going to be performing some sort of.. act. A little, technically.” Stan shrugged his shoulders a little. 

“An act?” Olivia asked for clarification, her brows knitting together. “What do you mean, an act?”

“Well, a performance. Think of this like. I don’t know - how should she think of this, Irene?” Stan leaned back against his chair, mimicking the way he’d sat the first time Olivia had met him. 

“Like you’ve said, Stan. A performance. Olivia, you’re going to be in charge of getting to Mitch. We want you developing a relationship with him, getting close to him, starting to keep him … level?”

“Level?” Stan repeated, looking confused. “We don’t need him level, Irene. We need him knocked under the ground and finally fucking sane.”

“Stan,” Irene sighed. Olivia could see the exhaustion written on her features. “Would you please dial back on your profanity?” 

Stan stared at her blankly for a moment before beginning to mutter a string of curses underneath his breath, making an annoyed face, looking down at his hands.

“As I was saying. We need you to help us keep him level. He’s here -“ Irene raised her hand above her head, moving it back and forth a little to prove where Mitch ‘was’. “And with your help we’re hoping that we can get him here.” Irene lowered her hand to the middle of her stomach. 

Stan scoffed at Irene’s hand placement. “There? Irene, are you out of your mind? That’s still too much. We need that kid six feet under, which I’m sure he’ll manage on his own eventually. However I’d like it sooner than later. And since you won’t let me kill him, I guess we’ll have to settle for you doing it, Olivia.”

Olivia widened her eyes a bit. “I thought I was to act as a makeshift handler? Not kill this man.”

Irene nodded, “you are. Ignore Stan. He’s old, holds grudges and probably forgot to take his heart medicine today. He’s fired up when he doesn’t take those.”

Stan leaned forward in his chair, face hard and ready to give Irene a verbal lashing for her comments. She halted him, however, when she began speaking again. “You’re to gain Mitch’s trust, Olivia. Stan and I have decided that the best option for you, as his handler, is to get close to him. We, however, do not feel like it will be beneficial in any way for him to know of you as an agent. We want him blind to that fact. Want him as out of the loop about what we are planning of him as possible.”   
“So,” Olivia breathed. “What is it exactly that expect of me?”

  
“Well, for starters you’ve got to get the least trustworthy sonovabitch I’ve ever met to trust you. Piece of cake.” Stan shrugged like he didn’t really care what happened but looked forward to the shitshow playing out in front of him. Olivia almost wanted to be like him, seemingly uncaring in all aspects of life. Distantly, however, she suspected he cared more than he let on. 

Olivia nodded her head slowly, pushing her lips together in a pout. “That sounds easy enough. Get an untrusting ‘sonovabitch’ to trust me. Got it. What else?”

Irene sighed, she was sure that by the end of her time with Stan either herself or Olivia would sound like a truck driver stuck in traffic. Cursing every other word. 

“You’re also going to need to get close to him, like I’ve said.”

“How close?” Olivia asked, picking at her cuticle. She caught herself and stopped, knotting her fingers together. 

Stan smirked, clearing his throat. “Well, sweetheart. Without risking Irene punching me for being ‘too crass’, you two will probably get close enough for him to know if you’ve got carpet or hardwood floors if you know what I mean. And that won’t even be you doing it for the mission. Probably. Mitch is a pretty bastard. Irene, you know.” 

“Excuse me?” Olivia asked quietly, taken aback by Stan’s comment. 

Stan sighed, and Irene gave him a warning look. “You’ve got to get so close to him, Olivia, he’ll end up inside of you. You control a man's dick, you control him.”

Irene gasped in shock, leaning forward to smack Stan across the mouth. Her movement was quicker than either Stan or Olivia thought she was capable of. “Say somethin’ like that again, and it’ll be my fist Stan.” 

Stan, still in shock over being smacked, rubbed his cheek gently. “Director, I don’t think it’s appropriate to smack your agent.” 

Irene gave him an icy glare. “Stanley, if you were my agent I’d have your ass canned worse than sardines.” She took a deep breath. “You’re making my head pound.” 

Olivia, having recovered from the abrupt smack that wasn’t even delivered to her but nearly felt, grasped what they were discussing. “I’m not going to sleep with him.” She declared, more to herself than to the others in the room. 

Stan snorted a laugh. “That’s a fucking lie. You haven’t met him yet. Hell, even ol’ cobweb crotch Irene here wanted him at first.” 

_ Thwack. _

Irene’s fist connected with Stan’s jaw blindingly fast, causing his head to thrash to the other side. “You ever talk about my crotch again, Hurley, and you’ll lose your teeth. You got me?” 

Stan nodded, though she could hear his low chuckle. “Back to the subject at hand, and not the subject of our agents sleeping together.”

“Though, you admit that you’re sure it will happen.” 

“STAN!” Irene shouted in warning. He held his hands up in mock surrender. 

“I think we could use a moment. Let me go call my other agent, he’s in route I would hope. Stanley, don’t do or say anything stupid or inappropriate.” 

Irene pushed up from the bed she was sat on and walked away from the two of them, entering the room besides theirs through the adjoining door. 

“She can put on a show and lie all she wants, she enjoyed my comments.” Stan mused, rubbing his jaw soothingly. “Anyway, Olivia. As I was saying. You’re gonna have to get  _ real _ close to Rapp. He’s not been vulnerable to anyone since that shit went down however long ago, and we want you to be that person he lets his guard down with.”

“And you think that by fucking him, I’ll accomplish that?” 

Stan shrugged, “probably. Besides, like I definitely said earlier. You’ll want to anyway. Didn’t you see his picture in his file?” 

Olivia nodded, “yes. I did, but-” 

Stan waved his hand, not wanting to hear the rest of her sentence. “Doesn’t matter. I just want you to know that it’ll be something that will happen eventually. Not even a possibility, I guarantee it. And when it happens, if I hear about it, I’ll contemplate killing either of you. Just a warning.”

Stan took a breath and stood from his chair, walking over to the small fridge to grab a bottle of water.

“Aside from getting him to trust you and screw you, you’re gonna have to get him to listen to you. That’s important. That stupid sonovabitch doesn’t listen to a single Goddamn person, you’ve gotta change that, or so help me God he’s gonna find himself skinned.”

Olivia sighed heavily, “why do you have such contempt for him?” 

Stan cracked the seal on the water bottle he’d grabbed and guzzled down half of it. “Cause I think of him as my son, Olivia. And I don’t want his ass to get killed in the field.”

“I’m not going to get to be with him in the field though.” She pointed out, standing to get herself a water bottle. “How will I be able to prevent him from getting killed?”

Stan took a moment to answer her, slowly screwing the cap back onto his water. “You’re gonna give him a reason to want to come home.”

 

-

 

Irene returned shortly, shoving her phone into the pocket of her dark grey pants. “He is on his way here from there airport.” Irene declared, returning to her spot on the bed.

“Who?” Olivia asked, assuming it was going to be Mitch.   
“The other agent. He’s crucial to you getting to Mitch.”

Olivia furrowed her brows together. “Why don’t you just introduce me to him yourself?”

Stan laughed, shaking his head at her. “You can’t just be introduced to this kid, Olivia. He’ll say ‘I don’t need a fucking handler’ in his annoying tone, and walk out in a huff.”

“So, like you would?” Olivia asked for clarification. Stan glared. 

“Sort of,” Stan agreed. 

Irene took a deep breath and then launched into explaining what would need to occur. “Stan called Mitch when we landed and told him there was a lead on an international, mid-level arms dealer here in Paris. Mitch was assigned to getting to the arms dealer and finding out what he knows. Currently, Mitch is somewhere over Europe headed here to join us. Or, rather, to find us. In a manner of speaking. The other agent, the one I just phoned, he’s going to be posing as the arms dealer.”

Olivia sighed, “where do I come in then? Am I supposed to be a housekeeper or something? Should I stumble upon Mitch?” 

Stan shook his head, “not exactly.”   
“Then what?” Olivia leaned forward a bit looking rather confused. 

“You’re going to be a victim of sorts…” Irene trailed off. 

“How will I b-” Olivias sentence was cut off by Stan’s fist connecting with her left temple, sending her crashing to the bed. 

Irene jumped up from the bed, grabbing Stan’s arm. “Stan! What happened to telling her the plan first, and allowing her to consent to getting beaten?” 

Stan sighed, looking at his fist and then at Irene. “She wasn’t going to agree. This way, she’s already been hit. She’ll have less of a reason to refuse.”

“Or more of one!” Irene pointed at Olivia who was clutching the side of her head. 

“What the fuck?” Olivia screamed at Stan, standing up from the bed. 

Stan cleared his throat. “Well, Irene did warn you that you’re playing the victim of sorts. This is the ‘of sorts’. Now, can we please finish this? I don’t  _ want _ to do this to you, Olivia. I really don’t, but it has to be done.”

“NO!” Olivia screamed again, pushing on him with the balls of both of her palms. She balled her fists at her sides, ready to strike him, when Irene spoke up.   
“Olivia,” she rest her hands calmly on her thighs. “You’ve got to do this. You’re going to be the victim, and that entails looking like one. Stan is going to beat you,  _ within reason _ , and you’re going to be rescued. Hopefully, if Mitch does what we want. He doesn’t know our plan, so maybe he’ll cooperate.”

Olivia stared at the two of them wide eyed, her temple throbbing. “Get fucked.” 

She walked past the two of them, reaching down for her bag. “Told you she was gonna hate this.” Stan pointed out, cracking his knuckles behind Olivia.

“Olivia, please. This will be over soon, it will look worse than it will be.”

Olivia shook her head, dragging her bag to the door. She had her hand on the doorknob when she heard Stan whisper “ _ bureau baby”  _ under his breath. She narrowed her eyes in anger, whirling around to look at him. 

“What?” She hissed, dropping the handle of her suitcase. 

“You heard me,” Stan shrugged. “You’re nothing but a fuckin’ bureau baby.”

Olivia balled her fists again, returning to Stan and Irene. “Fine, you shriveled old crone. I’ll take your fucking beating,” Olivia snarled. “But if you break my fucking nose I’ll get full retribution for every single blow you land. ‘You got me’?” She asked, mimicking Irene. 

Stan nodded, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It will be my pleasure.” He drew his right hand back and launched if forward, connecting with her jaw.

 

-

 

Olivia sat in the bathroom on the edge of the tub, holding a cloth to her bleeding lip. Her head was pounding, and her ribs hurt every time she took in a breath, but other than that she was faring better than she had anticipated. Stan had only assaulted her for a short time, and she was thankful he hadn’t broken anything. Though, if you asked her, she was pissed he hadn’t because she wanted to break his nose back. 

“Olivia,” Stan said from the door of the bathroom. She looked up at him and noticed a small knife in his hands. Her heart sped up in her chest.   
“What?” She said, dropping the cloth she held to the floor, standing up on weak knees. “What more could you possibly do?”

Stan looked from her to the knife and then back to her. “May I stab you?” He asked, looking a little sad to ask. 

Olivia shook her head in astonishment. “No? No you can’t stab me, Hurley? Why would anyone allow you to do that?” 

Stan shrugged, “cause if you don’t agree I’ll have to do it by force. And that’ll be even worse for you.” 

Olivia scoffed, “or! You could just realize you don’t need to stab me at all.” 

Stan shook his head at her and took a step into the bathroom. “I do, Olivia.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It will be in your shoulder area. Right here.” He touched the spot he planned to stab her with the tip of the knife. “It will be less painful than you’d think it is. Trust me, I’ve been stabbed there more times than I care to count. It’s fine.” 

Stans attempts to be reassuring were falling short. Olivia took a step back away from Stan. “No.” She repeated shaking her head. Her hand came up to rub the spot on her shoulder, thinking for a moment. “Wait,” she looked up at Stan, keeping her hand on her shoulder. “You can stab me, for whatever sick fucking purpose you have. If you let me punch you, dead on in the face.”

Stan took a deep breath before nodding in agreement, bracing himself for the impact of her fist. He figured getting punched in the face twice in one night wasn’t a bad average. 

Olivia inhaled and, as she was exhaling, sailed her fist towards Stan's face, colliding with his nose in a loud thud.    
Stan recoiled from her, clutching his nose in his hand. “Fuck, Olivia.” He huffed, pulling his hand away to check for blood. “Yeah, definitely broken.” Stan pinched his nose firmly between his first finger and thumb, shaking his head a little. “You’re fucked up, kid.” He grunted. 

Olivia gave a smug smile before pulling her shirt to the side, closing her eyes tightly. “Do it, get it over with now. Before I change my mi-” her voice was taken when she felt the blade plunge into the fleshy part of her chest below her shoulder. Stan retracted the blade quickly, tossing it into the sink. 

Olivia let out a string of curses as she snatched the hand towel off of the hook on the wall, pressing it firmly against her bleeding shoulder. “You fucking cocksucker,” Olivia snarled at Stan. She pressed her hand harder against her shoulder. “I’ve never been stabbed before, and you bet your balls I never wanna be again.”

Stan shook his head, “sorry kid. I’m done now. You’re free to go.” 

“Go where?” Olivia asked. 

Stan pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “Irene’s got some medicine for you, since you let me stab you and all.” 

Olivia nodded her head and walked past Stan to the main room, seeing Irene on the phone with someone. She contemplated interrupting Irene’s phone call to ask her for the medicine that Stan had mentioned, seeing two little white pills spotted with red dots sitting on a napkin on the table. 

She grabbed her water from earlier, washing the two pills down with it. 

Irene got off of the phone as she was swallowing, looking from Olivia to the napkin to Olivia again. “Oh, I see you found the pills. Wonderful. How are you feeling, Olivia?” Irene asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Olivia felt a little put off by that, seeing as Irene was probably the one who suggested that Stan beat her up in the first place.

“I’m fine. I just want to know what the rest of this stupid little act is going to be. Am I just going to wander into Mitch’s path looking like this? That will surely get him to trust me, I’m sure. He won’t think I’m fucking deranged or anything.”

Irene shook her head, tapping on the glass screen of her cell phone. “No, Olivia. You’re not just going to stumble into his path. You’re going to be placed in the room where he will be confronting the fake arms dealer. You’re going to be a hostage, so to speak. Start thinking of the story you’re going to tell Mitch now, so you’ve got it completely figured out by the time you have to tell it. Would you?” 

Olivia nodded, taking a seat in the chair that Stan had been sitting in earlier. 

There was a knock at the door which caught Irene and Olivia’s attention. Irene was about to make for the door when she heard Stan shout ‘ _ I’ve got it _ ’ from the bathroom. 

A moment later the two women were joined by Stan and a man who was taller and scruffier looking, with short brown hair that looked almost military. He had a hard glare to his features. Olivia could tell this was to be the arms dealer. 

“Olivia, meet your capture. International arms dealer Anton Checovich.”    
The man raised his hand in a half assed wave to Olivia. She nodded her head in response, regretting the movement due to the pulse of pain that wrapped around her head. 

“What’s your real name, agent?” Olivia asked, still holding the hand towel tightly against her chest. 

“That isn’t important for you to know, Olivia.” Irene interjected before the agent could respond. “Only concern yourself with your part of the act. Okay? You should probably lie down on one of the beds, you’re looking faint.” 

Olivia went to nod but caught herself, laying down on the bed closest to her. The three others walked away from her to have a meeting in the hall near the bathroom.

Olivia felt her eyelids getting heavy. 


	3. Two: The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first stage of the plan goes into affect. Olivia and the arms dealer are both introduced to Mitch Rapp for the first time, and things get a little interesting. Olivia also realizes that perhaps things are a bit different than they would originally seem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is going to evolve into something... wild? I wish I could control it, but unfortunately, my brain will not let me. Please enjoy, and again: feedback is encouraged - good, bad or indifferent.

Olivia woke up with a groan, her eyes feeling heavy and her mouth dry as a bone. She blinked slowly a few times, her eyes adjusting to the light pouring in from the wall of windows facing the sun. She winced looking directly at the sun on accident, turning her head to the other side. She had a pounding headache that was throbbing with every small movement. 

“Sonovabitch,” she whispered to herself. She realized she was on a bed, figuring she had passed out after Stan had beaten and stabbed her. She looked around trying to see if Stan and Irene were still in the room. 

Quickly, she came to notice she wasn’t in the same room she had fallen asleep in. Her heart picked up speed, pounding in her chest with fright. “Hello?” She called out, attempting to sit up, her body sore and her shoulder sending shooting pain up her arm in response. She looked at her shoulder and then her hands. They were tied together with a necktie to the headboard above her, her muscles sore and tired from being in the same position for what she assumed was hours. 

“What the fuck is going on?” She grumbled, her mind working slowly. “What the fuck was in those pills?” She spoke aloud. She could tell her speech was slower than normal. She blinked slowly again, her eyes feeling just as heavy as they had when she’d fallen asleep. How long had she been out?

The other agent from earlier walked into the room then, holding a cup of water. “Hello, Olivia.” He said in a gruff voice. 

“Untie me,” Olivia said limply tugging at the necktie around her wrist. 

“Can’t,” the agent said.

_ What was his name again?  _ Olivia thought to herself, racking her brain. She was sure she’d been told before. Aaron? Alex? Andrew?

“I’m Anton,” the gruff voiced agent said. “Arms dealer, remember?” 

Olivia nodded.

“Drink up.” Anton said, holding the cup to Olivia’s lips. She parted them and started taking long swallows of the offered water. She made grunting noises when she had her fill, her mouth feeling less dry than it had when she woke up. The water had tasted tangy, and her tongue felt a little numb. 

“What was that?” She asked. 

“Water.” Anton replied, setting the cup down beside her. “Stan and Irene had me change you.” He indicated her body which was now dressed in a dark blue, button up shirt and a pair of underwear. “Where’s my bra?” She asked, glaring at him.

“It was discarded for you.” Anton answered matter-of-factly. 

Olivia went to kick him but felt like her limbs had been tied down to weights. Instead, she settled for giving him a fierce glare. “What the fuck do you mean you discarded it for me, Anton?” Her voice sounded softer than she wanted, but she knew it got the point across. 

“It does not matter, Olivia. Just concern yourself with not struggling too much, you don’t want to aggravate your wound. Do you?”

She shook her head. She was feeling too tired to continue to talk. Anton filled the space where her voice should have been.

“Irene and Stan have instructed me on how to get out of here. Unfortunately, I have been told, I am to leave you here. Apparently the other agent, the one whom we are tricking, is supposed to find you in this condition. I am sure you are aware of that. Correct?” 

Olivia half shrugged.

“He should be here shortly,” Anton continued, offering Olivia some more water. She took a few more sips before he replaced it to the nightstand. “Will you be able to follow through with this or should I call Stan and Irene and tell them that you aren’t cut out for your assignment?”

Olivia took a deep breath and clenched her jaw. It took her a second to speak, her head was feeling foggier than earlier. “I’ll be fine.” She said confidently. 

Anton nodded, looking like he didn’t believe her. “Sure, Olivia. Sure.” He patted her knee which sent an uncomfortable shiver up her spine. She was quick to move it away from his hand. 

“Don’t touch me,” She ordered. Olivia’s head fell back against the pillow again and her eyes threatened to close. “Don’t touch me.” She repeated, her voice weak. 

She couldn’t make out his response as she slipped back under. 

 

 

The sound of a fight outside of the bedroom woke Olivia up, her eyes snapping open. She lifted her head from the pillow, groaning at the abrupt movement. She felt like this was familiar, sans the altercation she could hear in the other room. Her throat was drier than her mouth felt, and speaking came hard but she managed to call out a weak “ _ who’s there _ ?” 

Grunting and thudding were all she could hear in response. She was sure she heard a glass of some sort break and a man howl in pain. She strained her neck trying to lean her head more to be able to hear more of the fight. “Hello?” She hoarsely called out. 

The sound of wood splintering answered her, and she tugged at the necktie around her wrists in an attempt to get free. The movement made her whine in pain, her shoulder giving a scream of pain in response. She took a moment to remember that she’d been stabbed, her stomach doing a flip. 

“HELLO!” She called louder, wriggling her hands and wrists against the necktie. “Someone help me!” She called in a near sob. “Please.”    
A voice shouted something and she jumped at the sound of a gunshot. Her heart dropped at the sound, her mind wondering if Anton was alright. She heard the sound of glass breaking again, and the sound of two men grunt in pain before footsteps retreated from the room. Her heart was pounding faster than she thought possible, and she felt absolutely helpless. Lying half naked and tied to the bed, she knew if something went wrong she would be screwed. Metaphorically.

A minute or two passed without a noise when suddenly the door to the bedroom smashed open with a bang. 

A shaggy haired brunette walked in, gun raised and poised on her. Her breath caught in her throat, her mind taking a second to process the sight in front of her. The mans lip was bloody and he had a bruise already forming on his nose.

His eyes scanned over Olivia, realizing that she wasn’t an immediate threat. He checked the room, making sure it was clear before he lowered his gun. 

The man walked over to her, looking over her again. “What’s your name?” He asked.

“Olivia,” Olivia responded. She dragged her eyes over the man’s face, recognizing him as the man from the file. “You’re gorgeous.” She found herself saying in a slow voice. She shook her head and groaned in pain. She was tired still, but that didn’t stop her head from pounding. 

His eyebrows furrowed, “and you’re obviously drugged.”

Olivia found herself nodding her head at his statement, “I’m agreeing.” 

His face pinched up in a confused sort of smile and he exhaled what was probably his gruff version of a chuckle, “yeah. Usually that’s what you’re doing when you’re nodding. Let me untie you. Are you hurt, aside from your obvious facial beating?”

She nodded again, her head still rattling with pain. “Yes,” she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as if she needed to think of what had happened to her. The man couldn’t help but acknowledge that it was an alluring move. “My shoulder. It’s killing me.” She acknowledged. “Think I was stabbed, maybe? Probably. Or the fire is just from this position. Dunno.”

The man sighed, carefully pulling the neck of the button down she wore to the side to be able to see her shoulder better. He saw the inflamed wound, which had luckily stopped bleeding. “I need to get you out of here.” 

“Wait!” She tried to shriek when he went to untie her hands. Her voice however out as a dull whine instead. “What’s your name first?” She asked, her eyes hooded. 

“Irrelevant.” He responded.

She huffed, “that’s a stupid name. Your parents are awful people.” She leaned her head back to watch him untie her hands but found herself passing out instead.

 

-

 

When he’d been instructed to fly to Paris for a mission involving an arms dealer, Mitch had low hopes of anything going well. Normally, arms dealers always had more artillery than they knew how to use, and they weren’t particularly good shots. However that did not mean they couldn’t cause one hell of a mess and a wicked headache for Mitch the next day. 

He’d found the brute sitting in the living area of the hotel room, smoking a cigar and reading what appeared to be a nude magazine. Mitch was less than impressed as he held his weapon poised on the man in the chair opposite him. Mitch was about to make his first inquiry when the heavy ashtray that the man was using sailed past him, thudding hard against the wall behind Mitch. 

He automatically sprang into action, firing a shot past the man’s head to disorient him before stepping onto the coffee table between the two, using his right leg to roundhouse his foot against the man’s temple. The man grunted in pain but recovered quickly, snatching Mitch’s foot before it could connect with him again, tugging it back to cause Mitch to fall with a thud against the coffee table. 

Mitch rolled himself off of the table, landing on his stomach. He quickly righted himself, raising his hands to block his face, the other man’s fist hitting against Mitch’s forearm. With a quick movement, Mitch launched himself at the other man, grabbing him by the throat, colliding his knee with the man’s stomach knocking the wind out of him instantaneously. 

The two stumbled back, Mitch’s hand seizing tighter around the brute’s neck. The man was struggling to breathe as Mitch cut off his airway. Mitch’s free fist connected with the man’s right cheek, causing a cut to form from the abrupt skin on skin contact. 

The man brought his hands up and then down hard on Mitch’s forearm, dislodging Mitch’s hand from around his throat. The man took a few stumbling steps backwards before regaining himself, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils flaring at the shaggy haired brunette in front of him. He charged at him, knocking the both of them onto the floor, the full weight of him landing on top of Mitch. He let out a grunt, his knee coming up between the man’s legs to get him to lessen his weight on him. Mitch used the man’s shoulders to push him off, quickly scrambling to his feet. Mitch raised his foot quickly, hitting the man square in the ribs with his foot, as if he were punting a soccer ball down the field. The man let out a loud groan. Mitch delivered another kick, this one knocking the man onto his back. 

“Where the hell are the guns?” Mitch asked as he loomed over the man who had now wrapped his arms around his chest in a self hug. The man didn’t respond, simply glaring up at Mitch with hard eyes.   
Mitch gave another kick, lifting his foot to slam it down against the man’s stomach. The man grunted, grabbing Mitch’s foot with faster reflexes than Mitch was anticipating. Mitch jumped instantly, not giving the man a chance to knock Mitch over, and drove the unheld foot into the man’s pelvis.

The man released Mitch’s foot and he returned to both feet, giving another kick to the man’s side. “Do I have to ask again?” Mitch questioned, his head snapping to the side when he thought, for a fleeting second, that he heard someone else's voice. The man took this opportunity, while Mitch’s attention was elsewhere for the briefest second, to get to his feet, his chest aching. When Mitch turned his head back round to look at the man, he was met with the man’s fist instead, his jaw instantly aching. 

Mitch went to return the blow but was apparently dazed, for his nose was struck next, pain shooting up his head and blooming between his eyes. He shook his head and quickly regained himself, returning the man’s blow with one of his own, this one holding more weight behind it than the ones he had delivered before. He could feel the man’s nose break beneath his fist when it landed. 

The man’s head snapped back, and Mitch took that opportunity to force his fist against the man's throat, causing him to fall to his knees clutching it. Mitch reached beside him and grabbed the lamp, going to smash it against the man’s head but faltering. He dropped it to the floor where it shattered.    
This time, Mitch was sure he’d heard another voice. He turned the whole of his upper body to face the double doors behind him, where he’d figured the noise had come from, his eyes narrowed. 

“ _ Somebody help me, please!”  _ Mitch heard a voice shout from behind the doors. He turned the rest of the way, his jaw clenching. He went to take a step towards the double doors when he heard a door close behind him. The man was gone. 

“Fuck me,” Mitch shouted into the empty room. He wanted to go running after him, but his curiosity for what was behind the double doors got the best of him. He found his gun where it had been knocked out of his hands and picked it up, checking the chamber. He fired a shot through the couch in the off chance the man was hiding behind it. 

He took a deep breath, checked that his nose wasn’t bleeding, and made his way to the double doors. He lifted his foot, kicking it hard between the handles, and watched the doors burst open. His eyes immediately landed on a woman tied to the bed wearing a button down shirt, and black socks. 

He pursed his lips and made quick work of checking the rest of the room, deciding that there wasn’t another threat. He lowered his gun, stuffing it into the back of his jeans to keep it close in case this was a lure. “What’s your name?” Mitch asked taking a few cautious steps towards the bed. 

“Olivia.” She said in a voice that Mitch wasn’t expecting. He watched her drag her eyes over his face, and he thought for a second that she might smile. “You’re gorgeous.” She told him, speaking too slow for him to believe it was how she normally spoke. 

Mitch nearly rolled his eyes, his hands moving to rest on his hips. “And you’re obviously drugged,” he looked over at the cup of water on the nightstand, deciding it best to get her a new one to make sure she wasn’t dehydrated. 

Olivia was nodding her head slowly and for too long, “I’m agreeing.” She said to him, and did what he figured was an attempt to shrug her shoulders which he wasn’t at all convinced she even knew she was doing. Mitch gave her a confused smile, like the kind you’d give to a child when they were being weird but endearing, and huffed out a sort of laugh. “Yeah,” he mused. “Usually that’s what you’re doing when you’re nodding.”    
He stepped nearer the bed, “let me untie you. Are you hurt, aside from your obvious facial beating?” 

He watched her nod again and he narrowed his eyes, trying to decide what could possibly be another affliction she had. “Yes,” she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and Mitch wanted to stare at her mouth but she spoke again. “My shoulder is killing me.” 

She took few breaths before she continued, “think I was stabbed, maybe? Probably. Or the fire is just from this position. Dunno.” She attempted to move her hands, but Mitch could tell that it proved too much effort for her drugged body. He took a deep breath in, sighing it out before carefully pulling the neck of her button down to the side. He tried hard not to touch her shoulder, not wanting to feel her skin. He was greeted by an inflamed wound, which by the looks of it, had stopped bleeding. 

Mitch shook his head, “I need to get you out of here.” He leaned forward to start untying her hands when she attempted to shriek at him, her voice just sounding hoarse. 

“Wait,” she fluttered her lashes at him. Mitch would have thought it was an attempt at being flirty, had she not looked like she could pass out at any second. “What’s your name, first?” Her eyes were hooded, she looked on the verge of sleep. 

He stifled a smirk, “irrelevant.”

She huffed, managing to open her eyes more to look at him, “that’s a stupid name. Your parents are awful people.” 

He shrugged his shoulders and got to work untying her hands, throwing the rope to the floor afterwards. He reached down and touched her face gently with the tips of his fingers, turning her head a bit. 

“Great, dead weight.” He took a deep breath and hooked his arm underneath her knees, lifting her legs. His other arm went underneath her shoulder blades and he carefully lifted her from the bed, carrying her out of the room towards the door. He leaned his body down and managed to get the handle turned and the door opened, checking that the coast was clear before walking out into the hotel hallway with her. 

She stirred a bit in his arms, and he was afraid for a second that she would come to and freak out. Instead she just cuddled her arms to her chest, seemingly making herself more comfortable in his arms. He used the tip of his shoe to push the down button on the elevator, nearly losing his balance. It took ages to arrive, and he was thankful he wasn’t as weak has he had once been.

Stepping into the elevator, Olivia came to a little, looking up at him with half opened eyes. “Where am I?” 

“Safe,” Mitch responded, regretting it immediately. 


	4. Three: The Suture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch Rapp is the unlikeliest of nurses, and Stan gives Mitch a new mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I wish I had any idea what the hell I was doing. I don't. This is all just blindly happening at this point.

Mitch carried a suture kit to the bed, setting it on the nightstand beside Olivia, his phone held to his ear by his shoulder. He listened to the ringing as he dialed Stan, his eyes widening to full alertness when he heard his trainers familiar rough voice answer on the other end.    
“What is it, Rapp?”

Mitch sighed, “I have a situation on my hands, Sir.” He looked down at Olivia who was sleeping soundly, unmoving since he’d laid her on the bed nearly twenty minutes ago. He wondered absently how much they’d given her or if he should be worried about her going into an overdose. He decided she would have done it before he arrived if that were the case.    
Stan grunted into the phone, “you always have a fucking situation on your hands, Rapp. I have a file cabinet in my office filled to the brim with situations and fuckups you’ve gotten yourself into in the  _ two years _ that I’ve known you. What could it  _ possibly _ be this time?” 

Mitch left the bedroom where Olivia was sleeping, walking to the living room of his suite. “The arms dealer managed to make an escape, Sir. He had a hostage in his room that I was not prepared for. I chose saving the girl over capturing him.” 

There was a moment of silence on the other end where Mitch worried they’d lost connection. “Excuse me?” Stan finally asked, and Mitch heard what sounded like a car door slamming in the background. “You what?” 

Mitch picked up a water from the mini bar, pouring it into the plastic cup beside it. “I said, and I quote, the ar-”

Stan grunted and cut Mitch off, “don’t be a little shit with me right now, Rapp. I don’t need your condescending ass remarks. You lost the arms dealer?” 

“Yes,” Mitch said, struggling to keep his tone neutral. 

Stan raised his voice, “that was your only fucking purpose for being there, you little shit! How do you manage to fuck up your  _ only _ job?” 

Mitch carried the glass into the bedroom, set it down beside the suture kit, and then returned to the living room. “Like I said,  _ Sir _ ,” Mitch’s voice was dripping disdain. “There was an unexpected hostage situation. I valued the life of a possible civilian over that of an arms dealer.”

“What was your assignment?” 

“To detain and question the arms dealer.” 

“And what was it you didn’t fucking do?” 

Mitch rolled his eyes, flopping down on the couch. “I’m not going to answer you when you talk to me like that.” 

Stan boomed a loud laugh into the phone, “who the fuck do you think you are you little shit? You’re going to answer me no matter how I speak to you. That’s why being the boss is so wonderful. Assholes like you have to respond to me.” 

Mitch took a deep breath in, pinching the bridge of his nose between his first finger and thumb, remembering the punch he’d taken earlier. “Do you like being the biggest asshole, Sir?”

“Don’t be cute with me, boy.” Mitch listened to Stan speak in French to someone, presumably. “Where are you and this civilian that was more important than a Goddamn arms dealer?” 

“In my room, Sir.” 

Stan groaned, ‘of course she is. So you played knight in shining fucking armor to this chick?”

“Not really, Sir. I just took them out of their literal hostage situation. She was tied to a bed, and drugged, Sir.” 

Stan sighed into the phone. “I’ll come rescue you from this bullshit soon, Rapp. Stay put, and don’t fuck anything else up for us, would you?” 

Mitch disconnected from Stan, not bothering to retort. He slid his phone into the front left pocket of his jeans before pushing up from the couch. He heard a noise in the bedroom, running in to see the glass of water knocked off of the nightstand, the carpet now soaked. “What are you doing?” Mitch asked, bending to pick the glass up. He placed it back on the nightstand, resting his hands on his hips as he looked down at the half conscious woman. 

“I was thirsty,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Can I please have water?” 

Mitch took a deep breath before walking out of the room, returning with the half empty water bottle he’d used to fill the cup. “Here.” He held the bottle out to her, decided against it as she lifted her hand, and instead took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Lift your head.” He said, reaching out to hook his hand around the back of her neck to hold her head up. He held the water bottle against her lips, letting her drink for a moment before putting the bottle onto the nightstand, releasing her neck so she could lay back down. 

“Do you feel alright?” He asked, trailing his eyes over her face, neck, and chest. 

“No.” She murmured. “Not quite alright. Think ‘absolutely terrible’, that’s where I am.” 

Mitch smirked, “wonderful.” Taking a moment to assess her injuries, he noted nothing would need immediate attention on her face. “It’s your shoulder, right?” He asked, indicating the spot she’d shown him a wound earlier. 

She nodded, “yeah. You can look at it again, if you’d like?” 

Mitch nodded, though he knew she couldn’t see it, her eyes had shut again. Slowly, Mitch moved the top of her shirt to the side, seeing the top bit of the knife wound. “May I undo a button on your shirt?” He asked of her, resting his hands on his thighs. 

“Just take it off, it’s not mine and I don’t want to wear it any more. It’s  _ his _ .” She near hissed the last word, shifting a bit to get the bottom of the shirt out from underneath her butt. 

“Are you sure?” Mitch asked, clearing his throat.

Olivia reached down, beginning to fumble with the last button on the shirt. “Yep.” She grumbled, opening her eyes and craning her neck forward to see what she was doing. 

“Here,” Mitch said, gently nudging her hands away. “Let me.” He slowly began undoing the buttons on the shirt, swallowing thickly when they were all popped. “Uh, you need to lift up.” He said, trying not to focus his eyes on her bare chest. 

“Can you help me?” She asked in a soft voice. Mitch nodded, wrapping his arm around her waist, lifting her up. He pulled the shirt off of her arms and threw it to the side of the room, laying her back down against the bed. “Where’s your bra?” He asked, indicating her chest with a glance. 

“If I knew, don’t you think I would be wearing it?” 

Mitch clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes a bit at her. “You realize I’ve got to stitch your shoulder, don’t you?”

Olivia nodded. 

“And so my hands are going to be -” Mitch pointed at the spot on her chest where the wound was. 

“I know.” She said sounding unamused. “Look, guy, they’re just tits. I’m assuming you’ve seen a pair before, yeah? So just, stitch my shoulder and oogle at my chest later. I may even let you enjoy them, but for now. I need water, and my shoulder closed, and a fucking nap. I’m exhausted. So, focus.”

Mitch shook his head, his eyes widening in surprise. “Who are you?”

“I’m Olivia, but you can call me Liv, nice to meet you. Who are you? I think it’s fair I know since you’re gonna be fondling me for a while.” 

Mitch scoffed, “I’m going to ignore you now and focus.” 

He stood from the bed, walking into the bathroom to find something to sterilize her wound. He washed his hands thoroughly noticing that there was a clean set of wash clothes on the tub. He walked them out and set them on the suture kit. “Drugs still kicking in?”    
Olivia was asleep again, her breathing steady. Mitch watched her for a moment before shaking his head, deciding that was creepy. “Olivia?” He whispered, trying to see if she was a light sleeper. 

Olivia didn’t react.

Mitch sat down on the bed beside her again, opening up the suture kit. He produced a needle and rubbing alcohol, dousing one of the washcloths before cleaning around her shoulder. He then wiped the needle clean and huffed.    
“I know you’re not awake right now, which is good, but I hate threading needles.” Mitch bit his tongue between his teeth as he fiddled with the needle and thread, taking longer than he thought should be allowed on anything to finally thread it. 

“Okay,” he said as he placed one hand on her chest. “This is gonna suck, I promise. But it’ll be over soon, and you and I can go our separate ways. No one will be the wiser.” Mitch took a deep breath, steadied his hands, and pushed the needle through her skin. 

Olivia reacted immediately, her hand shooting up to grab Mitch’s throat. She hit his adam's apple in the process of wrapping her hand around his neck, squeezing automatically. “What the fuck?” She screamed, looking at the needle in her shoulder. 

Mitch grabbed her wrist, ripping her hand off of his throat, trying to regain his breath. He rubbed at his neck with his free hand, keeping his other wrapped tightly around her wrist in case she felt the need to choke him again. When he could breath again, he threw her hand aside. “I could ask you the same fucking thing? Why the throat?” 

Olivia shrugged, regretted it, and winced. “I knew it would stop whatever the hell was going on. I was  _ asleep _ ! And suddenly I’m being pierced.” 

“I’m stitching your shoulder, Olivia.” Mitch still had a hand around his throat, almost as if he felt the need to still protect it. 

“Well it’s appropriate to wake someone up before sticking a needle through their skin, wouldn’t you agree?”   
Mitch shook his head, “I thought I was doing you a favor by leaving you unconscious.” 

Olivia slumped back against her pillows, shaking her head. “You were wrong, and the choking was your fault. Really, you should be apologizing to me for making me go through that.”

“YOU CHOKED ME!” Mitch shouted at her, letting his hand drop from his throat. “I should choke you back, make it even.” 

“Buy me dinner first.” Olivia gave him a smile, which Mitch eye rolled to in return. 

“You’re not a joker, are you?” 

Mitch didn’t bother acknowledging her question, instead he reached out and plucked the needle from her skin. “There. Bleed for all I care, Olivia. I’m not going to get strangled again because you have a rapid and drastic response to a  _ needle _ .”

“It startled me!” She defended. “I’ve had to be alert and unable to respond to anything that has happened to me in days. I was asleep, and I forgot that I was with you and not that fucking prick anymore. When I realized I could use my hands, that was what I was going to do.” 

Mitch gave her what he felt was a frown, “I’m sorry. I didn’t even consider, I should have woken you up.”

Olivia was taken a bit aback by his apology, nodding her head a little. “Thank you, you’re forgiven. I’m sorry for strangling you.” She added on as an afterthought. “Now, can we please get back to stitching me up? I don’t think this wound is going to heal if it stays gaping like it is.”

Mitch shrugged a bit, “you’d be surprised what the human body was capable of.”    
He took the needle in his fingers again, taking a deep breath in. “Are you sure you’re ready?” He asked, hand hovering over her wound. Olivia gave him a nod, furrowing her brows to prove that she was sure. Mitch turned his attention to her wound, placing his hand without the needle back onto her chest, pushing the wound closed a little with his thumb and first finger.

“Ready?” Mitch stuck the needle into her skin again before Olivia could respond, shoving it through the other side of the wound in a swift motion. Olivia pressed her lips together in a tight frown, watching him as he stitched her wound.

“You know, for a tough looking guy like yourself, you’re being really gentle. Even your hand that’s holding the wound shut is light.”

“Was I supposed to be some bull of a guy who was rough with everything?”   
Olivia nearly shrugged but stopped herself, “I don’t know. Maybe.” 

Mitch sighed, continuing to stitch the knife wound in her shoulder. “You doin’ okay?” He asked when he heard her take in a quick breath of air, her hand shooting out to grab his arm. Her fingers gripped his bicep, her blunt nails digging into the skin that wasn’t covered by the short sleeve of his black tee. 

“Yep, m’fine.” She promised, continuing to watch him work. “You still haven’t told me your name, by the way. I told you mine, it’s only fair.”

“What makes you think I trust you with my name?” Mitch had no sarcasm to his voice. He glanced at her hand, which was still holding his arm, and chose not to comment on it, letting her hold him as long as it helped her with the stitches.

“I trusted you with mine.” Olivia pointed out, fingers digging harder into his skin when he pinched her wound closer together.

Mitch tugged on the thread to tighten the stitches and close the wound. Olivia let out a sharp hiss, and he said his name. Her eyes were brimmed with tears, but she was fighting them back valiantly.

“Almost done,” Mitch told Olivia, going back over the stitches once more to make sure that they were secured.

“What did you say?” Olivia asked in a whisper.   
“We’re almost done.” Mitch repeated, eyes focused on her shoulder.

“No,” Olivia slowly shook her head. “Before that. When you were pulling on the thread. You said a word.”

Mitch rolled his eyes, “I said my name. Not my fault if you didn’t hear me. I’m not repeating it.”

Olivia nodded her head, “yes you are. You’ve got my tits in your face, and you’ve been poking me with a needle for what feels like an eternity. You’re gonna repeat your name to me. I’ve shown everything to you, least you can do is tell me what to call you.” 

Huffing, Mitch took his eyes off of her shoulder to make eye contact with her. “Would you please stop mentioning your tits?”

“Would you  _ please _ tell me your name, and not act like you don’t appreciate them?”

Mitch groaned, “you’re done.”

“Done what? Are you gonna kill me because I asked your name? That seems a little Goddamn dramatic, don’t you think?” 

Mitch grabbed her chin in his hand, turning her head to look at her shoulder. “With. The. Stitches.” 

Olivia let out a relieved breath, looking over at her shoulder. “Thank you.”

Mitch nodded, searching in the kit for gauze and tape to cover the wound. “Mitch.” He said, tearing open the packet of gauze. 

“Excuse me? I say thank you, and you call me a bitch?” Olivia went to scoot away from him, catching his faint chuckle. 

“I didn’t say ‘bitch’, Olivia. I said Mitch.” He made a hard m sound, so that she wouldn’t mishear him again. “That’s my name, since you were so insistent on knowing it.”

Olivia smiled a little, “I pegged you for a Chris or an Alex myself. You know? Some boring name.”

Mitch rolled his eyes, taping the gauze to her wound. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“You didn’t,” Olivia rushed to say. “I was just. You aren’t what I expect, Mitch.”

“Is that bad?” Mitch stood from the bed, cleaning up the mess from stitching her wound. 

“Not at all! I just don’t get surprised by people a lot.”

Mitch threw the suture kit into his bag, “you were abducted and held hostage. How do people not surprise you all of the time?”

Olivia took a moment before responding, “you’ve got me there. I don’t have a response.”

Mitch pulled a shirt from his duffle and returned to the bed, holding it out for Olivia to take. 

“I don’t want your shirt.”

“Do you have another option?” Mitch shook the shirt a little. 

“Can I stay naked?”

“No.”

Olivia sighed, reaching out to take the shirt from

him. She sat up, hesitating for a moment, before pulling the shirt on over her head. “God. Every movement sucks.”

Olivia shoved her arms through the sleeves of the shirt, moving to cross her legs underneath herself, the drugs wearing off enough for her to be mostly cognitive. 

“I’ll leave you to rest. You should finish that bottle of water, Olivia. You need your fluids, it’s important.”

Mitch turned on his heels to walk out, catching what Olivia spoke to him. “Thank you, for saving my life.” 

 

Stan hit the door to Mitch’s hotel room with the side of his fist hard enough to make the door shake. “Open up, punk.”

Mitch jogged to the door, pulling it open. “You don’t have to pound so hard on the door. I heard your knocking.” 

Stan shrugged, brushing past Mitch to enter the room. “Where’s the girl?” Stan asked, looking around the living room. Mitch shut the door and threw the lock, indicating towards the bedroom. 

“She’s in there. She’s sleeping.”

“Oh, how sweet.” Stan rolled his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. “Get rid of her.”

Mitch raised his left brow at Stan, crossing his own arms across his chest. “What do you mean get rid of her, Stan?”

“Kill her, Rapp. We have no way of knowing if she’s working with the arms dealer or not. Kill her before she gets a chance to kill you.”

“She’s had a chance,” Mitch confessed. “And she didn’t. She’s not going to.”

“What do you mean she’s had a chance?” Stan hardened his eyes on his trainee, trying to come off angry. 

“I was suturing her wound, here-,“ Mitch indicated the spot on his shoulder, two or so inches under his collarbone, where Olivia’s stab wound was. “And she reacted rapidly. Reached out and grabbed my throat. She scared herself more than she scared me, Stan. She isn’t a threat, I would have known if she were by now.”

Stan stared at Mitch for a moment before shaking his head. “You’re dumber than you look, Rapp.” Stan walked to the bedroom before Mitch could stop him, opening the door wide to look at Olivia, unconscious and curled up on the bed. 

“Wake up.” Stan barked, huffing when she didn’t stir. 

Mitch clamped a hand on Stan’s shoulder, pulling him back a bit, shutting the door to the bedroom. “I said, she’s sleeping.”

“Was she wearing your shirt?” Stan pushed Mitch’s hand off of his shoulder. “You ever grab me like that again, asshole, I’ll shatter your wrist.”

Mitch sighed heavily, “I know. And you’ll make sure it’s the one I jerk myself with, so I can never have any happiness. You’ve used that one before. You should get more imaginative. Take a creative writing class, Sir.”

Stan clenched his jaw, “It’s taking every ounce of control in me not to rock your jaw.”

“Do people still say that, Sir?”

Stan inhaled sharply through his nose, raising his hand to smack Mitch on the back of the head, catching Mitch by surprise. 

“What the hell was that?” He asked, his hand rubbing at the spot Stan hit. 

“I saw that in a show once. That was how the boss controlled his piece of shit understudy. It works wonderfully, so it seems. Like flicking a dog on the nose.”

“That’s been shown to make dogs more aggravated, Sir.”

“What are you, a fucking dog whisper? Shut up, Rapp, and get back on subject.”

“What’s the subject?” Mitch asked, sincerely. 

“THE GIRL!” Stan shouted in Mitch’s face, turning his head to look at the door to the bedroom. “Kill her, before she can do anything to anyone. We don’t know anything about her, and I trust her almost less than I trust you.”

“She isn’t going to do anything.” 

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, “this is exactly why I have high blood pressure. I’m going to have a cardiac embolism before I’m 70.”

“Before? Aren’t you already well past that, Sir? If you did, though, I’m sure the agency would allow you to retire. Or, rather, force you to. You’re well past the retirement age, aren’t you?”

“You really think you’re a fuckin’ comedian, don’t you?”

“No, Sir.” Mitch fought a smirk. “I think I’m a CIA special operative. Why, do you think I’m funny? Perhaps I could have a side gig.”

Stan raised his hand and thwacked Mitch on the back of the head again, this time hard enough to force Mitch to bob his head. 

“Sir, if you hit me again, I’m gonna break  _ your  _ wrist.”

“The day you do, Mitch, is the day I let you fuck me.”

“What?” Mitch asked, recoiling from Stan a bit.  “I would never  _ want  _ to fuck you, Sir. With or without your consent.”

“You completely missed my condescension, Rapp. I will never let you fuck me, just like I’d never let you break my wrist. If anyone’s getting fucked it’s you.”

“You wanna fuck me, Sir?”

Stan grunt, “No! Can we stop talking about this? You’re avoiding the conversation, Mitch.”

“About you screwing me? You’re the one who ended it.”

“ **About the girl.”** Stan nearly screamed in Mitch’s face, a thick vein sticking out in his neck. 

“What about her, Sir? I told you, she’s sleeping.”

Stan took a few deep breaths, making his way over to the mini-fridge, searching around the small bottles of liquor until he found the whiskey. He unscrewed the cap, and drank back the bottle in one swallow. “Mitch, poor stupid Mitch. You trust this girl?”

“To an extent.” 

“You’ve already fucked up, then.” Stan grabbed the second small bottle of whiskey and threw it back.

“How so, Sir?”

“She’s your fuckin’ problem now.”

Mitch rest his hands on the back of the couch between him and Stan. “What?”

“Well, Rapp. You’re the one who rescued her, mistake one. Then you brought her here, mistake two. And you stitched her up, that’s three. Now you’re defending her, and not putting a bullet between her eyes. So. She’s your problem now, Mitch. Until we catch the arms dealer, you’re her protection. Think of it as babysitting, only she’ll probably end up killing you. Or people that want her will. Isn’t that exciting?”

“I’m not babysitting her, Sir. I’ve done my job. I rescued her, now I’m handing her over. You, or Irene, or the CIA themselves can deal with her. I’m washing my hands of the situation.”

“Rapp, she’s yours now. End of story. She’s your new mission.”

“Fuck me,” Mitch huffed under his breath. 


	5. Four: The Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch Rapp finds out that he really is stuck being readers babysitter, and bickering between the two ensues. Olivia finds out some information about Mitch, and the two share some fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter where I didn't know what was going on, and I just let myself roll with it. It was nice to write at the very least.

Stan sat with Mitch on the couch in the hotel living room, his phone held in the palm of his right hand, the sound of the phone ringing the only one in the room. 

Irene’s voice greeted the men, “this had better be good. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Stan cleared his throat, “we’ve got a problem.”

“What did you do now, Rapp?”

Mitch glared at the phone, taking a deep breath. “I will refrain from taking offense to that, Director Kennedy. I haven’t done anything this time. There was an unexpected casualty of the arms dealer, and it’s being handled. We are calling because Stanley is trying to assign me a new mission that I refuse.”

Stan sighed, “there was a hostage, Irene. Mitch rescued her, and brought her back to his hotel room.”

“Why would you do that, Rapp?”

“She was a hostage, Kennedy. A civilian. I had to. I couldn’t leave her tied to a bed in the arms dealers hotel room.”

“You could have.” Irene said without any emotion to her voice. 

Stan gave Mitch a look that carried an almost “I told you so” air to it. 

“Kennedy, Stan has given me two options, and I agree with neither.”

Irene sounded bored, “those are?”

“Kill her, or protect her.”

Irene was silent for a moment, Mitch and Stan both growing ever more curious as to what she would say. “You rescued her Mitch. You’ve already committed yourself to the second of the two options. She is your responsibility now. Until we have the arms dealer, or we find who he was working for, you’re her bodyguard. I won’t hear any arguments on the matter. Don’t call me at this hour again unless you seriously fuck something up.”

With that, Irene ended the phone call, leaving the two men to stare at the device on Stan’s palm. 

“So. How did tattling on me to mommy work out for you, Rapp? Looks to me like she backed daddy up.”

Mitch stopped himself from cringing, “if you never refer to Irene and yourself as mommy and daddy again, it will be too soon.”

Stan glared but shut his cell phone, Mitch absently wondering how he still survived with an ancient flip phone rather than the smartphones the rest of the agents carried. “You’re going to have to transport her back to America, you realize that. Yes?”

Mitch groaned, “no. The thought hadn’t occurred to me, actually.”   
“Cause you don’t think about shit before you do it, punk.”

“I think about punching you all of the time, but never do. So, your statement is a lie.”

Stan smacked Mitch on the back of the head, taking a deep breath while he did so. “Do you know anything useful from her, yet, Mitch? Like, where the arms dealer has held her before this?”

“No.”

“Is she American?”

“Yes, I heard her voice. She has an American accent.”   
“Wonderful.” Stan huffed loudly, leaning against the arm of the couch. “What else do you know, Mitchell?”

“That isn’t my name,” Mitch said a little snarkily.

“I am aware. Your name is Little Shit, I’ve trained you long enough to know.” 

Mitch ignored him, leaning against the arm on the other end of the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. “I know that she was held hostage, and she was taken from America. Beyond that, I am clueless.” 

“If that isn’t the truest thing you’ve ever said, Rapp.”

Mitch, growing bored, sighed. “Look, Stan. If there is anything I need to know, tell it to me now. I’m tired.”

“Poor baby. Would you like me to make you a bottle? Tuck you in with your rescue? Make sure the both of you get a good rest?”

“Are you genuinely offering?” 

Stan leaned over, hand extended, and Mitch caught his wrist. “Not happening,” Mitch pushed Stans wrist away, crossing his arms again. 

“We need you to find out as much information about this girl as possible, Mitch. Get close to her, learn shit about her. Find out where she’s from, what she did for a living, how and more importantly why the fuck she managed to get abducted. Shit like that. I want you feeding all of this back to me.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think, Michelle?”

Mitch gave a shrug, ignoring the name that Stan called him. “If you would like to know anything about her, why don’t you watch over her yourself, Stan?”

“She isn’t /my/ problem, Monica. She’s yours. Which means that you’ve got to watch her. Irene said so.”

“You sound like a child,” Mitch pointed out, shifting to rest the calf of his right leg on the knee of his left. 

“And you act like one, Maurice.”

“Who?”

Stan shrugged, looking down at his phone, squinting his eyes. “What is your phone number?”

Mitch rattled it off before asking, “why?”

“I’m making sure I have it so that when you call, I know not to answer.”

“I thought you wanted information?”

“I changed my mind. You can deliver it all to Kennedy, she’ll want it more than me.”

“That makes no sense.” 

“Neither does you taking a hostage, Margarette, but you did.”

“She was tied to a bed and drugged, Stan. Any decent person would have saved her.”

“Well, you took her out of one hostage situation and forced her into another. Congratulations, you’re a wonderful man, aren’t you, Matchstick?”

Mitch glared, “that one wasn’t even a name, Stan.” 

“That’s rude to all Matchstick’s in the world.” 

Mitch rolled his eyes, uncrossed his arms, and went to pinch the bridge of his nose, stopping himself. “Do we know where the arms dealer could possibly be, Stan? I want to take care of him before I have to return to the states.”

“He is no longer your mission, Marvin. She is, do you not remember? We’ve called someone else in to handle the arms dealer. Who, currently, has escaped into the wind.” 

“Fuck you, he’s mine! I should be the one to get him, when the incompetent CIA manages to find him, that is.” 

Stan raised his eyebrows at Mitch, chuckling a bit. “Did you not already have a chance at him, Marsha? Did you not prove that  _ you’re  _ incompetent? You don’t have the right to him anymore. Your priority is making sure his boss, the one who probably made him take your girlfriend, doesn’t further whatever the fuck he’s been planning.” 

Mitch clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath in. “Do not call her my girlfriend, Stan. I’m not going to say that again.”

“Relax, Macey. I forget how sensitive you are. You’re fine, pull your haunches back.”

Mitch relaxed into the couch, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “What else do I need to know, Stan?”

“Make sure she doesn’t contact anyone while she’s here. We don’t need a group coming and taking you out, Maggie. You’re not valuable, but I don’t wanna have to pay the cleaning fee on this room.”

“Thanks, Stan.”

“Of course.”

Standing from the couch, Stan pocketed his cell phone, stretching his arms above his head. “Good luck with her, kid. You’re gonna need it. Don’t tell her any secret information, which you’re likely to do since you’ve got a big mouth. Don’t hit her if she irritates you. Actually, do. I don’t care. And don’t fuckin’ sleep with her. Okay?”

Mitch grit his teeth together, gave Stan a curt nod, and pushed up from the couch. “Goodbye, Sir. Have a safe flight back to America. Or don’t.” Mitch wanted to add “I hope you get detained”, but decided against that.

Stan made his way to the door of the hotel room, his hand resting on the knob. “Don’t fuck this one up, Rapp.”

Mitch didn’t respond, choosing to let the last comment linger in the air after Stan left 

 

Sitting up with a start, Mitch brought his hand up to rub at the scar on his chest, taking a deep breath in through his nose. He pushed his body up from the couch he had passed out on, stretching his limbs. Pops and cracks sounded throughout the room causing Mitch to wonder how he still managed to get around so easily. Old age, he presumed, wouldn’t be kind to him. If he ever reached it. 

His stomach grumbled loudly, cramping occurring in the middle. He rest his hand on his stomach while looking around the room for the room service menu, clearing his throat. He picked it up, returning to the couch. He read over the menu, choosing a few items. Picking up the phone on the small table beside him, he dialed room service, placing the order. 

“Thank you, charge it to the room.” Mitch instructed the woman on the other end of the line, placing the phone back onto the receiver before she could say any more.

Standing from his seat on the couch, he headed into the bedroom of the hotel room, looking over Olivia as she slept. She was curled around a pillow, her hand resting beside her face, the tips of her fingers pressed against her lips. Mitch walked to the bed, placing a hand gently on her hip.

“Hey,” he shook her hip a little to stir her from sleep. “I need you to get up.” He shook her hip harder when she didn’t move. “Hey!”, his voice rose this time.

“Hmmm?” Olivia hummed, scrunching her nose up and stretching out her arms. “What’s wrong?”

“When was the last time you ate?” 

Olivia furrowed her brows, her eyes still unopened. “Dunno? Maybe a few days ago? I haven’t been hungry.”

“You haven’t been awake,” Mitch reminded her. He nodded to the bottle of water on her nightstand. “Drink some more fluids, you need to re-hydrate.”

Olivia sat up on the bed, cracked her neck, and grabbed the bottle of water. “God, I feel like my hands have been broken and the bones removed.”

“Why?” Mitch took the water bottle from her after watching her struggle with the cap for a moment. He easily unscrewed it, handing the bottle back to her. “Maybe it’s the drugs still weakening your system?” Mitch offered, crossing his arms as he sat beside her. He waited for her to finish the bottle off before speaking again. 

“Food is on its way, I want you to eat something.”

Olivia furrowed her brows, “I don’t think that’s something you get to want.” 

“I think it is. Who is the one who was drugged, and who isn’t? I can remember the last time I ate, Olivia. You can’t. You must eat.”

“You must eat,” Olivia mocked, holding the empty bottle out to him. “You should eat my portion. I don’t want it. I’m good. Besides, how do I know you’re not a trick? Huh? Maybe you’re here to trick me into getting comfortable, and then you’re gonna get me drugged again and ship me off to like. Another place.”

Mitch shook his head, “why would I do that?”

Olivia looked down at her hands in her lap, “that’s what some fuck would do I think. Get me into a false sense of security. I fought back the last time they moved me, hence the shoulder.” She reached up, rubbing around the wound exploratorily, wincing when she reached a tender area. 

“Why did they take you, anyway?” Mitch asked, standing from the bed. He was going to look through his first aid kit for some pain killers, thinking against it almost immediately. “Did you do something to them?”

“No. I didn’t. I was just in the wrong place at the right time, I guess.” She gnawed on her bottom lip, still looking down at her hands. Mitch sat back down, waiting for her to continue. “I was on shift at the hospital, I’m a surgical nurse. I just, scrub in, help the surgeons. You know, shit like that.” 

Mitch nodded.

“Anyway, I was scrubbing out after a patient when I got a page that someone needed to consult with a nurse about another patient. We were short staffed that night, I figured the other on calls were busy. I thought nothing of it, and responded to the page. When I got there the nurse at the station indicated the waiting room where a woman was. I went to talk to her and she begged me to come with her to check on her husband’s stitches. I asked her to bring him in, but she said they couldn’t afford for him to get seen if it were nothing.” 

“You fell for this?” Mitch asked, realizing after he spoke that he shouldn’t have. “Sorry.” He tagged on. 

Olivia sighed, “yes I did. I am far too kind for my own good, and I have a soft spot for people who cannot afford medical care. Sorry, I’m an idiot. I’m aware.” 

“I never said that,” Mitch defended, shaking his head a little. “You’re not an idiot. You swore to help people, that’s what you thought you were doing. I get it, please, continue.”

“Anyway, I finally agreed to going out to see her husband. I had my medical bag with me, so I had some things in case I needed to disinfect anything, things like that. I get out to the front of the hospital, and she tells me that he’s in the parking lot. I, again, think nothing of it. There’s this worried looking woman begging for help, I don’t think she’s going to do me any harm.”   
Mitch scoffed, “always assume someone wants to hurt you unless they prove they’re not going to.”

“Do you?” Olivia asked cautiously.

“Do I what?” Mitch asked, furrowing his brows.

“Want to hurt me?”

“Have I yet?”

“No, you’ve only helped me.”   
“Then I guess I don’t wanna hurt you, do I?”

Olivia shook her head, “no. I guess not.” She took a deep breath and fiddled with the hem of the shirt she wore for a second. Mitch could see her struggling for words, and instinctively reached out to clasp her hand in his. 

“You’re not with them anymore, Olivia. You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m going to get you home.” Mitch assured her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. 

Olivia looked up at him, giving him a smile. “Thanks.” She took his hand in hers completely, holding it while she continued. “I get to the van, where her husband supposedly is, and she opens the back door. She climbs in, and I hear a man groaning in pain, but it’s really dark. And I cannot see that much, so I ask her to turn on the light. She urges me to climb in, so I do. The doors to the van then slammed shut, and my chest just tightened. I knew shit was fucked, then. I was fucked. How could it not be?”

“Why would you ever get into the van, Olivia? That’s a rookie mistake if I have ever seen one.” 

Olivia sighed, “am I anything but a rookie?”

“No, I guess you’re not even really that. You’re more an infant.”

“Thanks,” Olivia scoffed. “Do you want to hear this story, Mitch? Or would you prefer to just call me an idiot and leave it at that.”

Mitch gave her hand a squeeze, rubbing the side of it gently with his thumb, “continue.”

Olivia looked down at their hands, taking a moment to compose herself. She had rehearsed her cover story time and time again. Perfecting it. Memorizing every single detail, like she’d been trained. She wasn’t busy searching for her words, like Mitch assumed. She was selling her role. 

“I was panicking, naturally like anyone would, of course. And the woman turned cold, instantly. Flipped a switch and the bitch was a void of emotion. She spoke clinically to me, told me to fix whoever was moaning and groaning. I told her I couldn’t. That I was a new nurse, I didn’t know what I was doing. Shit like that. She smacked me, felt like my eye was going to explode. I’ve never been smacked before that. It was shocking and I didn’t know what to do but recoil from her.”

“Naturally,” Mitch nodded. He was still rubbing her hand with his thumb and absently wondered if he should stop. She didn’t seem to mind, so he didn’t. 

“They drove me to this, I wanna call it a warehouse, but it wasn’t. I was dragged around by these two big guys, they had tied my hands in the van. The guy from the van was removed and brought into the warehouse too. We were at a standstill because I wasn’t going to fix him, and he was clearly gonna die. They hit me again, threw me around. After a few more smacks and shit I got tired of it and gave in.”

“To what?”

“I fixed the guy. He had a few bullet wounds in his body, no where serious. It was an easy save. They told me they were gonna keep me. Said having a doctor would be useful, especially for their line of work. I kept trying to tell them I wasn’t a doctor, cause I’m not! I’m not at all! They never listened.”

“How long ago was this?” Mitch asked her, his grip on her hand tightening. 

“Three maybe four months. I don’t remember exactly. We were traveling around the East Coast primarily, and I was mostly kept in rooms and cars. Then whomever the dude you came for was, he had them bring me out here to Paris. They had me mostly drugged for a few days. Then I helped with someone and got scared because I was in another country. Tried getting out, snuck out of the room while he was having a meeting. That’s how I got into this mess.”

“The beating and getting tied up?” Mitch asked for clarification. Olivia nodded. 

Mitch felt his stomach knot, like he was angry. For what? He didn’t know. At what? Equally clueless. But it was there, and he concentrated on Olivia’s hand in his to stop his stomach from knotting further. 

“Did they..” Mitch stopped himself before he was able to ask the question on his tongue. It didn’t take more than a heartbeat for Olivia to catch on, immediately shaking her head. 

“No,” she said quickly. “God. No, they didn’t. I would’ve… I would’ve found a way to kill them if they had.”

“You were bound and drugged, Olivia. I don’t think you could have fought your way out of a paper bag, much less killed grown men.”

Olivia scrunched her eyebrows together, glaring angrily at Mitch. “I could have protected and defended myself, thank you for your confidence in me.”

Mitch didn’t speak, just shrugged his shoulders at her. The two were silent for a few minutes. Olivia made herself busy tapping Mitch’s knuckles in the beat of a song. Mitch busied himself trying to think of how he was going to manage to babysit her while also still working. 

Olivia jumped when room service knocked on the door and Mitch dropped her hand like it was a hot coal, pushing on his knees to stand. “I’ll be right back.” 

He walked out of the room and called through the door for room service to just leave it by the door, thanking him from bringing up the cart. He watched the employee through the peephole, remembering that they probably spoke french. He reiterated what he’d said, in French, and watched as him left. He waited a few breaths, then opened the door, pulling the cart into the hotel room. 

Mitch quickly checked the cart, making sure that it had nothing conspicuous on it before wheeling it into the bedroom. “Foods here.”

Olivia looked at the cart that was in front of her, lifting a lid off one of the plates. “This mine?” She asked, looking over the salad on the plate. 

“No,” Mitch shook his head. “That’s the side salad. I asked for it on a plate rather than in a bowl. I ordered us burgers. Seemed the safest, unless you’re a vegetarian. Then there’s a tofu something or other in there that you’re welcome to. I figured I’d cover my bases.”   
“Wonderful.” Olivia responded, taking the lid off another plate. She picked it up, getting more comfortable on the bed. “So, Mitch. What’s your last name?”   
Mitch ignored her, picking up his own plate, taking a seat across from the bed on a chair against the wall. Olivia pursed her lips, folding a fry in half before dipping it into the ketchup she had dumped on her plate. “Well, then, how old are you Mitch? Since last names seem to be a touchy subject.”   
“I’m old enough.” Mitch answered before taking a bite of his burger, signifying he was done answering. 

“Like… Mid twenties?” Olivia ventured, raises her eyebrow at him.

Mitch looked up from his plate to her, not saying anything. 

“Right, I’ll say mid twenties since you’re not gonna confirm or deny anything. What about where were you born, Mitch?”

“America. Why do you keep saying my name after every question? I know you’re talking to me. We’re the only two in the room.”

Olivia sighed, “I like saying it. ’Sides, maybe if I say your name enough, you’ll finally answer me. Make you realize that I’m speaking to you and not the wall.”

“I never thought you were talking to the wall,” Mitch defended. 

“I was being sarcastic, Mitch. Surely you realized that.”

Mitch sighed, “yeah. I did, Olivia. I was trying to joke.”

Olivia mocked shock, “you know how to joke? I didn’t think you were capable of that.”

Mitch rolled his eyes, “are you trying to be funny by making fun of me?”

Olivia lowered her eyes to her plate, nodding slowly. “Sorry, Mitch.”

Mitch shrugged, “it’s fine. You should meet Stan, he would love knowing another person who picks on me as well. I’ve never met a man who hates me as much as him, Olivia.”   
“Didn’t you try killing the person who had me? I think he probably hates you.”

Mitch shook his head, “as kind as that is of you to say, no. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know me, and I don’t know him. You can’t hate someone that you don’t know, Olivia.”

“Yes, you can. I hate people I don’t know all the time.”

Mitch scoffed, “no you don’t, Olivia. You just don’t like them. It’s different. Hatred… Hatred is something inside of you. Hatred is something that festers inside of the pit of your stomach, something you can never remove.”

Olivia stared at him, a little in shock. “Who do you hate, Mitch?” 

Mitch sighed heavily, “no one anymore Olivia. I’ve gutted myself of that hatred.”

“How?”

Mitch, again, ignored her question. He took a few bites of his burger, and Olivia did the same, allowing the silence to settle over the two of them for a moment. When her plate was nearly cleared of fries, she addressed Mitch again. “Are you an only child, Mitch?”

He shook his head in response, swallowing what was in his mouth before responding. “No. I have a brother.”

“Younger or older.”

“I have a brother, Olivia.” Mitch repeated.

“Right, I’m guessing family is a touchy subject?”   
Mitch sighed, “you’re guessing right, Olivia.”

“Why do you keeping saying my name, Mitch?”

“So you know I’m talking to you, Olivia. Not the wall.”

Olivia smiled a little, “thanks.”

 

After clearing the plates from the room, Mitch pushed the cart back to the hallway and locked the door behind him. Going to get comfortable on the couch, he had to stop, thinking he heard his name getting called. He huffed loudly, walking into the bedroom to see Olivia sitting on the edge of the bed. “Is there something that you need?” Mitch asked dryly.

“I need your help,” Olivia near whispered.

“You need my help beyond me saving your life? You’re getting a bit greedy, wouldn’t you agree?”

Olivia pushed her lips together in a pout, holding her hands together in her lap. “Well. I guess, yeah. Sorry, I’ll figure it out, Mitch. Never mind.”

Mitch crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the door frame. “What do you need, Olivia?”

“A shower.”

“The bathrooms right there.” Mitch pointed at the door on the far wall. “You’re more than welcome to shower. I can find you something to wear, I’m sure I still have extra clothes.”

“I am not worried about my clothes, Mitch. I am feeling very weak, still. And with this stupid fucking shoulder injury… I can’t shower alone, Mitch. Please, would you help me?”   
“Help you shower?”

Olivia nodded in confirmation.    
“No.”

Olivia frowned, clearing her throat. “Okay, then. I suppose I’ll just do it on my own. I mean, I wouldn’t want you getting wet anyway. I hear water is bad for robots, won’t you rust? Would your circuits fry or something?”

Mitch furrowed his brows in confusion, “what are you rambling about?”

“You’re a robot, aren’t you, Mitch?”

“Why in the hell are you asking me that?”

“Well! You never make any faces, you never change the inflection of your voice. You’re a void.”

“That’s rude.” 

“See!” Olivia shouted, throwing her hand forward in his direction. “You said ‘that’s rude’ but didn’t change the way you looked at me, or the sound of your voice. Did your programmer not give you emotions?”

“I have emotions, Olivia.”

“Liar.” Olivia huffed.

Mitch took a deep breath, then forced a smile. 

“Are you okay?” Olivia worried, looking at him seriously. “Are you in pain? Your facial muscles know how to do that?” 

“Har har.” Mitch mocked her worried look before shaking his head. “Would you just get into the shower? I can smell you from over here.”

Olivia gasped, “was that you making a joke?”

“Yes. Did it not land?”

“It wasn’t nice.”

“You said I was a robot without emotions,” Mitch reminded her.

“I cannot argue with that.” Olivia smiled. “You gonna help me shower or not?” 

Mitch shook his head, turning on his heels to head back out of the bedroom. “Nope, wouldn’t wanna rust.”

Olivia groaned, “you’re hateful! Worthless fucking whatever you are!”

“Assassin.” Mitch called from the other room.

“WORTHLESS FUCKING ASSASSIN!”

“Thank you,” Mitch called.

Olivia stood from the bed, took a few tentative steps towards the bathroom, and decided she didn’t need Mitch afterall. She made it to the bathroom without incident, took a moment to fiddle with the shower, and then began stripping. She let out a squeal of pain when she went to remove the shirt she wore, causing Mitch to run in. 

“What?” He asked, eyeing her. 

“What?” She snapped, letting the hem of the shirt go, the material falling back over her hips. “Are you really an assassin?” 

“Are you really asking me that? Was that why you squealed like a kicked dog?”

Olivia flared her nostrils, “I have half of a mind to hit you right now.” 

“I would need to be a corpse for that punch to land.”

Olivia balled her hand into a fist, and forced her good arm towards Mitch. He caught her forearm in his hand and held it. “Do you feel better?”   
“No!” Olivia snapped, yanking her arm back. “I want to hit you!”

“Would I get to hit you back?”

“NO!” 

“That’s not fair, Olivia.”

“You’re not fair!”

Mitch sighed, “that made no sense.”

“Yeah?” Olivia huffed loudly. “You make no sense. Who do you think you are? Mister I’m-Too-Mysterious-To-Tell-You-Anything.”

“I told you my name. That I’m from America, and that I have a brother. That’s three things, in less than an hour.”

“I hate you.” Olivia snapped, leaning her butt against the counter behind her. 

“You didn’t hate me a few minutes ago.”   
“No. I hated you then too, just less.”

“Alright Olivia,” Mitch shrugged. “Have a lovely shower.” 

“Are you really an assassin?” Olivia repeated, this time grabbing Mitch’s arm with her bad one to stop him.    
“Do I have to break your arm so you never grab me again?”

“I’d love to see you try.” 

“Oh, my God. I’m not having this conversation again.” He took a deep breath, and a part of him felt sympathy for Stan. He realized how annoying he must be to the old man. And he also acknowledged, to only himself, how much he didn’t care.

“Answer the question, Mitch.” 

“I have no reason to.”   
“You’ve seen me naked! I deserve at least an answer to what you are.”   
“I’m a healthy male.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I have one, yes. I am not one, though.”   
Olivia swung on him again, and this time, Mitch let her punch land. Her fist connected with his arm, and he didn’t so much as glance at the site.

“Fucker.” Olivia hissed. “I hit you hard, you could’ve at least reacted.”

“I didn’t feel it.” Mitch’s lips turned up in a smirk. “You gonna shower? You still stink.”

“No.” Olivia grunted. 

“Why not?”

“I can’t remove my shirt.”

“Then wear it in the shower.”

Olivia went to swing on him again, and he stepped back to avoid her punch. This sent Olivia falling forward, and Mitch reached out to catch her around the waist. “Are you almost done?”

“What?”

“I asked if you were almost done.”   
“DONE WITH WHAT?” Olivia shouted at him, letting him help her stand straight up.

“With trying to hit me. Next time I’ll let you fall.”    
“I’m sure you’d like that.”

Mitch sighed, “no. I’ll be the one having to pick you back up.”

Olivia rubbed at her shoulder, wincing a little. “Just let me fucking shower. I don’t need you.”

“You said you did.” 

“I’m a liar.” 

“I believe that.” Mitch sighed. “Let me help you take your shirt off at least.”

“Perv.” Olivia huffed.

“You asked me to fondle you earlier. The only perv here is you.”

Olivia groaned loudly, “do you have a gun?”

“Yes.” Mitch said, in more of a question than an answer.   
“Can I have it? I wanna blow my brains out. Save us both some trouble.”

Mitch laughed, genuinely and sincerely laughed, his face lighting up. Olivia took a whole step back, staring at him in what could only be mistaken for amazement. She thought, not for the first time since she’d seen him, that he was truly gorgeous. 

“Don’t laugh at me!” She shrieked, stopping his laughter. Mitch rest his hand on his stomach, the exertion from his laughter causing him to have to catch his breath. 

“You’re not going to kill yourself, Olivia. I didn’t save your life just for you to blow yourself away.”

Olivia rolled her eyes, and held her arms out in front of her. 

“Are you a mummy?” Mitch asked, looking her over. 

“Take my shirt off, like you offered. I can’t lift my arms up that high.”

Mitch smirked again, grabbed the bottom of her shirt, his fingers brushing against her hips. “You sure? I don’t want to be mistaken for a perv again.”

Olivia rolled her eyes again, “would you hurry up?” 

Mitch pulled her shirt off of her quickly, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a small pile. “There.” He tilt his head back, eyes trained on the ceiling. Olivia flicked his adam’s apple before heading for shower. 

“Are you going to be able to wash your hair?” Mitch questioned. 

“No.” 

“Turn the shower off then.”    
“I stink, remember?” Olivia snarked, reaching for the shower knob. 

“I’ll give you a bath.”

“Am I dog?” 

“You act like a bitch, at the very least.”    
“OH! Good one,” Olivia snarled. “I don’t need you bathing me. I can figure it out on my own.” She turned the knob, the shower turning off. 

“Then why did you turn the water off?” 

“So you can give me a bath.”

Mitch chuckled, looking away from Olivia to the bathtub. “Hot or warm?”

“Melt me.” Olivia replied, moving to take a seat on the edge of the bathtub. 

Mitch turned the water on, pushing down the stopper for the tub. The two sat in silence while the water poured quickly into the tub. When it was filled, Mitch offered Olivia his hand, and helped her into the tub. 

“Thank you,” Olivia said sincerely. 

Mitch shrugged, “yeah.” He turned the water off, and went on a search for wash clothes and the shampoo and conditioner from the shower. 

Olivia watched him wander around the small bathroom. “Grab a cup.”    
“Why? Do you drink soap water?”

“You’re so fucking annoying. You can use it to help rinse my hair.”

“Just dunk under the water?”

Rubbing her forehead, Olivia took a deep breath. “Can you just grab the cup please?”

“Any other requests? Do you want bubble bath? Should I rub your shoulders?”

“That would hurt, I imagine?” 

Mitch grabbed a spare towel, setting it on the floor beside the bathtub, before resting his knees on it. “Should probably close your eyes.” He told Olivia, dunking the cup into the water of the tub. She squeezed her eyes shut as Mitch poured the water over her head and face. 

Olivia, who hadn’t managed to close her mouth in time, turned and spit a mouthful of water onto Mitch, drenching his shirt. 

Mitch recoiled, dropping the cup in the water. “Are you looking to be smacked?” 

“Are you offering?”

“Olivia,” Mitch’s tone was warning. “You’re pushing my buttons.”

Olivia smirked, “ah. Confirming my robot theory.”

Mitch took a deep breath, and picked the water cup up. “Tilt.”

“What?” 

“Your head. Tilt it back.” 

Olivia obliged, closing her eyes and mouth so that Mitch could wet her hair. 

Mitch grabbed the shampoo when he was satisfied with the wetness of her hair, and squeezed some out into his palm. “Is this enough?” He asked, waiting for her to see the amount he held.    
“More than enough.”

Mitch rubbed the shampoo between his palms before beginning to massage it into her hair. “You know, when guys get me wet, this is usually not what happens.” 

Mitch smiled, “I like keeping people on their toes.” He continued massaging the shampoo in until he felt there was enough foam. “Close your eyes again,” Mitch told her, washing the shampoo out of her hair with the water, running his fingers through her hair to make sure all of the foam rinses out. 

“That feels lovely.” Olivia near moaned, letting her head stay lulled back.    
“What does?” 

“Your fingers in my hair. You’re a lot less brutal than I thought you’d be.” 

Mitch rolled his eyes, “I can be gentle you know?”

“I can feel that.” 

“You know,” Mitch cleared his throat. “You are not the first girl to compliment my fingers.”

Olivia laughed, “careful Mitch. You’re edging closer to perv territory.” 

“You’re the one who asked me to bathe you.” 

“You offered,” Olivia defended. 

“Not initially. I said no, and then you whined because your stupid shoulder hurt.”

“Ouch,” Olivia groaned. Mitch withdrew his hands, panicked he’d done something to hurt her.

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking her over. 

“Yeah? I was saying ouch about your comment.” Olivia made a noise that sounded like an ‘awe’, resting her hand on her chest. “Were you worried about me?”

“No.” Mitch pulled on her hair a little, causing her to groan in pain. 

“What the hell was that for?” 

“Just making sure the shampoo was out.” Mitch smiled innocently at Olivia, and picked up the conditioner.

 

Olivia held the towel tightly around herself, making sure to avoid touching her shoulder, watching Mitch in the bedroom search around in his suitcase. “Having trouble finding something, sport?”

“I would prefer it if you’d never call me that again.” 

“What about champ?” 

Mitch glanced over at her, giving her an unamused glare. “I will throw you out into the street stark naked, Olivia.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” She countered.

“Call me one more name, and I will.”

“Okay, okay. God, you’re so touchy.”

“Says the woman who pulled me into the bathtub.” 

“I still remain that you tripped trying to grab the body wash.” 

“Well. Now I’ve got to find us both clothes, and I don’t think I have enough. You didn’t think your antic through, Olivia.” 

“YOU SLIPPED!” 

Mitch grunted, digging through the clothes he had remaining. “Here.” He carried a pair of boxer-briefs and a black t-shirt into the bathroom, holding them out to Olivia. 

“Why are you giving me underwear?” 

“So your ass is covered,” Mitch shook the clothes in front of her and she grabbed them from him. 

“What are you going to wear?” 

“I have other underwear, I’ll wear them. And I think I may have a pair of sweats.” 

“Wonderful,” Olivia said deadpan. She waited for him to return to the bedroom before she dropped her towel, pulling on the pair of underwear Mitch gave her. “You know. I didn’t think I’d be in your pants this early.”

“You’re not.” Mitch remarked, sorting through the clothes on the bed. 

“I’m in your panties.”

“Those are decidedly not panties.” 

Olivia laughed, pulling the shirt on, whimpering as she did so. Mitch watched her, making sure she didn’t hurt herself, quickly averting his gaze when she had the shirt on. 

“Any luck?” She asked, slowly making her way out of the bathroom, flicking the light off behind her.

Mitch shook his head, “I probably forgot them. I don’t pack very well. It’s fine.” Mitch shrugged, peeling his wet shirt off. Olivia had to keep herself from drooling, swallowing thickly as she looked away, concentrating on making her way to the bed. 

“What are you gonna wear then? Jeans? You seem to live in that pair.” 

“No.” Mitch unbuttoned his jeans, and shoved them down his legs. “I’m going to wear underwear, and sleep on the couch.” 

“When did I ask where you’re gonna sleep?” 

“You didn’t, I was just offering that information.”

Olivia rolled her eyes and took a seat on the bed, crossing her legs underneath herself carefully. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch, you know?” 

“What’s your alternative? The floor? Are you going to make some remark about me being a dog?”

“No, you stole that joke earlier.”

“Where should I sleep then, Olivia?” Mitch asked, grabbing a clean pair of underwear from his suitcase. “Look away.” Olivia did, looking down at her hands knotting together in her lap. Mitch switched his wet underwear for a dry pair, and rest his hands on his hips. “Again I ask, where should I sleep?”

“You can sleep in the bed, Mitch. We’re adults. We can keep our tallywhackers to ourselves, can’t we?”

“I swear to God, Olivia.” Mitch brought his left hand to his forehead, rubbing in circles. “You’re giving me a migraine.” 

“I’m offering to share this bed with you! You should be grateful!” 

“I don’t want you fondling me,” Mitch snickered. 

“I would never want to.” Olivia countered, laying back against the bed, trying her hardest to keep her eyes from wandering down the dark hair below his belly button. 

“I’m fine on the couch.” 

“Fine!” Olivia huffed, moving to lay on her uninjured side, slipping her legs under the covers. “Sleep on the couch.” 

“Fine.” Mitch grunted, pulling the covers back on the bed. “I’ll sleep in the stupid bed with you. Keep your hands to yourself.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of touching you.” 

Mitch scoffed, laying down on his back beside Olivia. He pulled the covers up to his chest, fluffed his pillow, and turned the lamp beside him off. “Go to sleep Olivia.” He instructed, closing his eyes. 

Olivia watched Mitch carefully, eyes dragging over his chest, stopping on the occasional scar. She didn’t notice when Mitch opened his eyes, noticing her staring at him. “Can I help you with something?” He asked, pulling the blankets a little higher on his chest. “Would you stop staring at me? It’s unsettling.”

Olivia scoffed, getting more comfortable on the bed. “Thank you for changing my bandages, and bathing me, and for giving me clothes.”   
Mitch nodded to signify him saying ‘you’re welcome’, closing his eyes again. “You seriously need to get some sleep, Olivia. You need to sleep off the drugs.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“You couldn’t be fine if that was your name.” 

“That was your worst joke yet.”

“Goodnight, Liv.” Mitch rolled over, his back facing her. 

“Goodnight, Mitch.” Olivia smiled, finally closing her eyes.


	6. Five - The Visit from Stan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia has a secret meeting with Stan, and Mitch is kind of sweet? For a second? Who knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a month since I wrote the last chapter to this fic, and I don’t know how the heck I managed to even be able to write again. This suddenly came to me and I wrote it relatively quickly. Is my spark back? The world may never know.

Mitch rubbed at his eyes tiredly, feeling hot. He looked down at Olivia, her arm wrapped around his ribs and her head on his chest. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, moving her arm off of his body. He took a moment to stretch his legs before slipping out of the bed carefully, Olivia slowly sliding off of his body onto the bed. She shifted a bit, grunting a little, repositioning herself to rest her head on the pillow Mitch had been using. 

Mitch dragged his eyes down her body, making sure she was still asleep before walking around the front of the bed, picking up his now dry jeans. He slipped his legs into them, pulling his jeans up to his hips, fastening the button. “Olivia,” Mitch whispered tentatively, watching her shift her legs underneath the covers. When she didn’t wake, he pulled a mostly clean shirt out of his suitcase and over his head. He tugged on his socks, sighing heavily. 

Rummaging around in his suitcase, he found his wallet, checking to make sure he had a few euro in it before stuffing it into his back pocket. His burner phone was on the nightstand beside the bed, charging. Mitch figured he wouldn’t need it, but decided to grab it just in case Olivia wanted to try and contact anyone. He took the cord out of the back of the hotel phone on the nightstand, yanking it out of the wall as well. He wound it up tightly, stuffing it into the front pocket of his jeans. He figured Olivia wouldn’t be up for a few hours anyway, but wanted to cover his bases. 

Walking out of the bedroom, Mitch closed the door behind him, slipping his feet into his shoes near the bedroom door. Doing a look around the room, Mitch found his gun hidden underneath the cushion of the couch he’d slept on the night prior. He pulled it out and secured it into the back of his pants, making sure to pull his shirt down to cover it. After double checking there were no weapons that Olivia could find and use against him when he returned, he pocketed the room key from the table by the door and walked out. 

 

Stan hit the door three times, leaving two breaths between each knock, waiting patiently for the door to be opened. Entering the room, he looked Olivia over, narrowing his eyes a bit at her outfit. “You making it a habit of wearing his clothes?” 

Olivia narrowed her eyes at Stan in return, taking a seat on the couch after shutting the door behind him. “I was left with no other clothes, Stan. What else do you expect me to wear? Hmm?” 

“Let’s not give me attitude first thing in the morning, Olivia.” Stan warned, holding out a coffee cup to her. “We’re going to have Irene call him and stall him for a moment. Figured I owed you a coffee.”

Olivia took it, holding it tightly between her hands. “Is it drugged again? Poisoned perhaps?” 

Stan took a deep breath, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch as Olivia. “Don’t start acting like Rapp. I swear to all that is mightier than me, I will kill you both without hesitation and take whatever punishment there may be for me. Considering how horrible that bastard is though, I expect a thank-you medal.” Stan rest the ankle of his left leg on the knee of his right. “How is your shoulder?” Stan pointed at the spot where her wound was on his own shoulder, leaning back against the couch to get comfortable. 

“It hurts like a bitch, actually. If I am being completely honest with you, Stan. Mitch did a good job stitching me up, though. Won’t leave a terrible scar or anything. I was impressed with him.”

“How has he been treating you? We’ve got surveillance in every part of the hotel where there is a security camera, but this room doesn’t have anything. If you were murdered we’d have no way of knowing until it was too late.”

Olivia lifted her good arm, running her hand through her hair, ignoring the few knots. “He has been kind. I am starting to worry that you’ve assigned me to the wrong assassin, Stan. He has been gentle with me, even. He stitched me up, helped me with coming down from the drugs you guys gave me. I will be filing a complaint about, do you hear me?”

Stan rolled his eyes, “you aren’t going to file a complaint to anyone, Olivia. There’s no one to complain to, aside from Irene and I. No one else knows about this mission, Olivia. No one aside from the three of us, and the discontinued agent we brought in for the arms dealer that is.”

“Discontinued agent?” Olivia asked, furrowing her eyebrows together. 

“Not important. He was just, less than satisfactory, according to Irene. He’s no longer with the organization.” 

Olivia took a few slow, deep breaths. It was conversations like this amongst agents that reminded her just how expendable they all were. They were rats on a wheel, powering a machine larger than any of them fully understood. The moment one rat became unsatisfactory, they could be easily swapped for another. It was in the rare case, such as Rapp’s, that they tried to fix the rat. Mend it’s wonky whiskers. “Who killed him?” 

Stan rolled his eyes, “no one, Olivia. He wasn’t killed. He was just, discontinued.” 

“Which means killed. I’m not an idiot, Stan.” 

Stan scoffed, picking at a piece of frayed denim at the ankle of his jeans. “Let’s not start a conversation about smarts, Olivia.”

Olivia went to retort and Stan stopped her, clearing his throat. “Has he mentioned getting you home, yet?” Stan wondered, rubbing his jaw with the hand that wasn’t picking at his jeans. 

Olivia shook her head.

“Of course he hasn’t. He doesn’t plan anything, he just does.” Stan took a deep inhale. “I’ll call him later, discuss your transportation with him. You should bring up him buying you clothes today. If he takes you with him, use this as a means of building his trust. Get close to him. Show him you’re not going to be a flight risk. If he feels less on guard, he’ll be easier for you to handle. I’ve learned that the hard way. Apparently telling him I’m going to kill him in his sleep for two weeks straight had him on edge. I have no idea why.”

Olivia laughed out loud, bringing her coffee up to drink, silencing the noise. “I have no idea either, Stan.” She said after swallowing the warm, bitter liquid. “I will act as his sweet, doting girlfriend in public who is overjoyed that her boyfriend is buying her clothes. Would that work for you?”

“You can do whatever you want, Olivia. Just don’t piss him off in public.” 

“Will you have someone tailing us?”

“I will be somewhere near you guys.”

“So you’re going to chaperone our date, Stan?” 

Stan rolled his eyes, “yes.”

Olivia nodded before taking another drink from her cup, trying to rapidly down the liquid. “He’s nice, you know? Like. Genuinely nice.”

“Is he?” Stan asked, eyebrow raised at the woman beside him. He never thought that someone would tell him that Mitch Rapp was nice, without an ounce of loathing to their voice. “I am surprised.”

Olivia shrugged, “don’t get me wrong. He’s sarcastic, and kind of an asshole, really takes after you there, Stan. But. He’s nice. You can tell he once had a good heart. And he’s really trying with me. It’s obvious he isn’t used to having to nurse a victim, or play the hero to someone he has to actually interact with.” She took another sip. “I just think that, once you break down his ‘oh I’m a tough guy who kills people’ facade, there’s a genuinely good human being underneath.” 

“Are you sure the drugs have worn off?”

“I’m serious.” She sighed, shaking her head a little. “He gave me a, what I am assuming was rare, moment of real and genuine emotion. He assured me that he was going to get me home. That he was going to keep me safe. It was like, for a moment, I wasn’t talking to the cold and cautious Mitch Rapp that I had read about or first encountered. He was.. He was sweet? He seemed like he really meant it. Like he  _ cared _ that I felt safe and secure with him. That I knew that he was there to help and protect me.” 

“He is. Technically. He just doesn’t know that there is no real threat.” 

“He doesn’t have to be the way he is with me though. He could just tell me I’ll be fine and ignore me. He sat with me though, listened to my cover story. He even held my hand. Made sure I wasn’t scared to tell him what I had fabricated. He even..” she smiled softly to herself. “He even made sure I was comfortable with him helping me bathe, in case I hadn’t been.” She shook her head, thinking back to the conversations she and Rapp had had. 

“So he’s a decent human being sometimes, who cares?” 

“I care.” Olivia grumbled, finishing her coffee, holding the cup out to Stan to take. She watched him grab it, her eyes landing on her own hand. She couldn’t help but miss the way Mitch’s hand had felt in her own, how gently he had rubbed it with his thumb. How comforting his touch had been. She dropped her hand to her lap, missing Mitch’s. 

“I should head out.” Stan said, standing from the couch, Olivia’s coffee cup still in his hand. She stood up as well, ready to walk him out. “You should go get back in bed, Olivia. Act asleep when Mitch returns.”

“Okay,” Olivia sighed. She rest her hands on her hips. “How long do you think I’m gonna be stuck with him?” She asked. 

“For as long as you’re useful with him, Olivia.” 

She nodded, watching him walk out before returning to the bedroom. She crawled under the sheets, scooting her body to lay on the side Mitch had slept in. Her side smelt like nothing, unable to smell her own natural scent. His side, however, smelt warm. Like him. Like the cologne she had seen in his duffle bag when he was looking for something for her to wear. She couldn’t pinpoint what his natural smell was, couldn’t describe it if someone asked her. The only thing she knew about it, was that she liked it. Made her feel safe. Maybe it was just the man behind the scent that made her feel safe. Whatever it was. She wasn’t against it. 

As Olivia was falling back into sleep, warm under the covers on Mitch’s side of the mattress, she had a fleeting thought that worried her. 

_ You’re going to start falling for this man. _

 

Mitch returned to the room annoyed, nostrils flared as he set two coffees and a brown paper bag down on the coffee table. “Olivia?” He called, making his way back to the bedroom. He sighed when he saw her on her side, curled up around his pillow, fast asleep. “Olivia.” He repeated, this time softer. She didn’t react. 

He licked his lips, bringing his left hand up to rub over his soft pink lips and along the scratchy stubble of his chin and jaw. “Olivia.” He said for the third time, making his way over to the bed. He leaned forward, resting his hand on her hip, shaking her gently to wake her up. He watched her face, soft with sleep. Mitch would be a fool if he didn’t find her beautiful. With her smooth skin, and lips pursed into an unconscious pout. Had he been a different man, he would have already imagined all the ways she would kiss him with those lips.  _ Soft pecks in the morning when she had just woken up. Long, sloppy kisses while sitting on his lap. Slow, open mouthed kisses while they laid together. Wet, random kisses along his chest.  _

Mitch had to shake his head to stop his mind from wandering any further.  _ She’s a mission _ , he reminded himself. His hand gripped her hip a little tighter, shaking her a bit harder to rouse her from sleep completely. “Olivia, please wake up.”

She let out a soft noise that made Mitch take in a sharp breath. He worried he had been gripping her tighter than he thought. When she made another similar noise before stretching her arms out, he realized he wasn’t the cause. 

“Morning.” She whispered, voice scratchy from just waking up. Mitch smiled down at her, letting it fall from his lips the second her eyes cracked open. 

“Good morning, Olivia.” 

She pushed herself up in bed, and Mitch withdrew his hand from her. “I brought back coffee and donuts for breakfast. I don’t know if you eat either, but. I was in the mood for it so that is what you get.”

“That’s fine,” Olivia said, running her fingers through her hair. “Thank you.” 

Mitch watched her carefully. He liked seeing her freshly woken. Since he had lost his fiance, he hadn’t considered ever liking the way someone looks in the morning again. He was wrong. He wanted to see her first thing in the morning every day he could. Maybe he wouldn’t make her leave immediately after they got home after all. 

“Want me to bring your food in here?” He asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, being reminded of the phone cord he had stuffed in earlier. 

Olivia shook her head, hair falling back into her face. She sighed, pushing it back again. “No, thank you. I’ll come out with you.” 

Mitch held his hand out to her, helping her up from the mattress. “I also got you a toothbrush from housekeeping. It’s in the bag as well cause I didn’t know where else to put it.”

Olivia gave him a toothy smile, “thank you. My dragon breath and I are appreciative.”

“My nose is appreciative. You were breathing directly on my face last night and I almost gagged.”

Olivia stared at him, watching the way his lips curled up on the sides before he laughed. She followed suit, loving the way his laughter sounded. She had heard it the night before, while the two of them were attempting to shower. But she couldn’t fully grasp how much she appreciated it until now. She could hear it everyday and never get tired of it. She made a mental note to herself that she needed to be funny for him often. 

“Don’t make fun of me, Mitch.” Olivia said without any venom in her words. She was trying to stop the smile from lighting up her face, and Mitch wanted nothing more than for it to stay. 

“You were laying on my left side. Am I missing any of my facial hair on that side? I feel like your breath was so bad you could have singed it off.”

Olivia laughed again, giving Mitch a playful glare, “fuck off.”

“I guess I’ll go check for myself. I hope I have more than just half of an eyebrow on this side.” He winked at her, and she tried not taking a deep breath. Mitch turned to head for the bathroom and Olivia caught his wrist before he could move away. “I swear you’re an ass.” 

“And you’re the hole.” Mitch remarked, giving her another wink. “C’mon let's go eat.” 

The two walked to the living room, Mitch immediately taking a seat on the couch. Olivia picked her coffee up, offering Mitch his. He took it, giving her a half smile when she sat down. “Thank you.” 

“Thanks for getting it.” She replied, leaning forward to grab the bag from the table. She tossed the toothbrush aside, holding the bag out for Mitch to remove a donut from. “I hope you somehow managed to know that I liked sprinkle donuts.”

Mitch broke into a cocky smile, “that’s funny.” He shook his head. “I had a whole entire debate with myself at the counter while looking at the donuts. I was going to go with two glazed, but then I saw a glazed with sprinkles and figured that might be more your speed. And then I went back to glazed because I didn’t want to assume. But then I saw the chocolate with sprinkles, and-” Mitch stopped himself from rambling for a full minute about his donut picking process. “Basically I ended up getting you a glazed with sprinkles. You’re welcome.” 

Olivia reached into the bag, pulled out the donut, and furrowed her brows. “Why is there only half?” 

“I ate the other.” Mitch said, biting into his own glazed. “I like sprinkles too, Olivia. You’re not the only one.” 

“Does this mean you bit into my donut, Mitch? Do I have to throw the whole thing away because it’s contaminated with your saliva? I don’t know where your mouth has been.” 

Mitch fought with everything he had not to respond  _ but I know where you want it to be _ . “You can handle a little bit of my saliva on your donut, Olivia. It won’t kill you.” 

“No, but I might kill you for being such a dick.” 

Mitch laughed again, and Olivia forced herself not to smile. “I’d love to see you try.”

Olivia leaned forward as Mitch brought his donut up, taking a bite out of the side he hadn’t. He pulled the donut away from her mouth and his in shock, staring at her with wide eyes and shiny lips. 

“Did you just bite my donut?” Mitch asked, right cheek puffy with the bite he had taken. 

Olivia nodded, licking the glaze off of her lips slowly. Mitch was too distracted by her tongue to be able to form a snappy reply.  “I did.” She chewed quickly, swallowing the donut she had stolen. “It was only fair since you greedily ate half of mine. Besides, your reaction was better than that donut anyway. I’ve never seen you looking so stunned, Mitch.” 

“I can’t believe your audacity.”  Mitch said, honestly. He took a napkin from the bag, setting it down on the coffee table. He rest his donut down on it, and grabbed Olivia’s wrist in his hand. “Let’s go. I’m putting you back into the bedroom and you can be tied up again, like you once were, since you wanted to be so bold.” 

“NO!” Olivia shouted, pulling her wrist back in utter shock. “You’re not fucking tying me up. You’re - you’re insane!” She stammered a little on the you’re, shrinking away from Mitch. He took this moment of shock to grab the other half of the donut from her, dropping her wrist and picking up the other donut before she could react. 

“You’re right.” Mitch’s voice remained the deep and emotionless tone it always was. “I’m not going to tie you back up. I was just saying that to get what I wanted. It was easier than I thought it would be. Your reflexes are terrible.” He acknowledged, looking at the half donut between his index finger and thumb. He gave her a smirk before taking a bite out of it. “I hope you’re not hungry. You’re going to have to wait for lunch now.” 

Olivia stared at him for a moment, calculating her next move. She watched him take another bite, shooting her leg out to kick his hand with her foot, knocking the nearly whole donut from his hand. She watched it fall to the ground, his face falling from the cocky smirk into a look of shock that matched her own prior. She stood and stepped on the donut, taking the opportunity to take the remains of the half of the other donut he held. She shoved the whole of it into her mouth before falling back down onto the couch, grabbing a napkin to wipe her foot off. “There.” She huffed. “No one gets that donut.” 

Mitch took a deep breath, Olivia’s eyes trained on the rise of his chest. When he exhaled her eyes snapped up to meet his. He was expressionless, his features absolutely neutral. “That’s fine Olivia. I’ll just reiterate, you will now have to wait until lunch to eat. I hope you aren’t hungry.” 

Olivia tossed the napkin that was covered in the glaze from her foot onto the coffee table, leaning back against the couch to get comfortable, completely aware and cautious of her shoulder injury. “I’ll be fine, Mitch.” 

He didn’t respond to her, simply turned his attention to the smooshed donut on the floor and grabbed the final napkin to clean it up. He put the trash into the brown paper bag that had been used to carry the donuts to the room, and stood from the couch. After throwing the bag into the trash, Mitch returned to the couch, sitting down on it heavily. Olivia huffed and leaned forward to grab her coffee, eyes going wide when Mitch took it before she could reach it. 

“Why did you do that?” 

Mitch shrugged, setting the coffee cup onto the small table beside him. “I figured if you want to be petty, I would stoop to your level. I have nothing going on today. I can be petty if I please.” 

“You’re such an asshole, you know that.”

“I would rather be the asshole than the whole ass, Olivia. You’ve got that title.”

“I liked you better when you didn’t speak.”

Mitch shrugged, “that’s usually the case. I liked you better when you were unconscious.”

Olivia glared, “then why did you wake me?” 

“To feed you.”   
“But you ate my food,” Olivia replied in way of counter. 

Mitch shook his head, “no. I ate half of your food, and was going to give you half of my donut to make things fair and even. You reacted poorly and therefore you fucked yourself out of a donut and coffee.”

Olivia grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Mitch repeated, picking his own coffee up from the table, sipping from it slowly. The two sat in silence for a moment, Olivia watching Mitch, Mitch pretending like he wasn’t watching her.    
“Your face looks better.” Olivia finally said, breaking the silence between the two of them.

  
Mitch rest his coffee on his thigh, holding it loosely in his hand. “Pardon?” He asked, furrowing his brows. His free hand came up to his face, rubbing his cheek. He wasn’t aware it had looked bad.

“Your nose,” Olivia pointed to her own nose. “It was really bruised yesterday, it looks a bit better today. Like you’re not about to have it fall off at any second.”

Mitch shrugged, uncaring about his face now. “I thought you were telling me I was ugly yesterday and now you decided I was attractive. I was rather confused.” 

“You know you’re attractive Mitch, don’t pretend.” 

Mitch shook his head, “I used to think I was handsome before I joined the CIA. But. I’ve had my nose broken so many times, and my face punched and cut even more. I don’t even think about my looks anymore. It’s irrelevant to anything going on in my life. I don’t need to worry about being the handsome man I used to be. I don’t need to worry about presenting myself as attractive to someone I like. I don’t like anyone anymore. Instead, I worry about not getting killed. I worry about how to keep myself from getting another scar or another broken bone.” 

Olivia sighed, “isn’t that kind of depressing?”

“Not everything is about looks, Olivia.”

She shook her head, “that isn’t what I meant. I meant, isn’t it kind of depressing not to want someone? I know a relationship isn’t everything, Mitch. Just. Don’t you ever get lonely?”

“How can I get lonely when I always have Stan up my ass, telling me everything I’ve done wrong?”

“Who’s Stan?” Olivia asked, tucking her legs underneath her. “Is he your-” She left the end of her question open, expecting Mitch to fill in the blank.   
“Stan is my boss,” Mitch supplied. 

“Ah. Well. I hope he keeps you warm at night.”

Mitch shrugged, “his hatred for me certainly does give me a spark but. Last night I was kept warm by you, so. I guess you’re my relationship.”

Olivia stared at him, “what?”

“I was just trying to end this conversation and thought if I said that you’d accept that as something. I was wrong.”

Olivia opened her mouth to respond to Mitch, getting silenced by the sound of a phone ringing. Mitch shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled it out, producing a silver cell phone. “Stan.”

“Ah,” Olivia nodded. “You know what they say. Speak of the devil, the devil calls back.” 

“I’ve never heard that before in my life, Olivia.” 

“Well. Answer the phone,” Olivia gestured for Mitch to answer with her hand. He complied, bringing the phone up to his ear. He stood up as he said “hello”, walking away from her to the bedroom. She took this opportunity to lean across the couch and grab her coffee, swallowing from the cup vigorously. 

Mitch returned from the bedroom after a few beats, Olivia setting the coffee cup down fast, feeling caught. 

“I’m going to give you something to wear and you and I are going shopping.” Mitch said while shoving his phone into his pocket. 

“Why?” Olivia asked. 

Mitch sighed, “because apparently we have to.”


	7. Six - The Shopping Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch and Olivia have a friendly outing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. I wrote chapter 6 and chapter 7 in one night. After drinking the night before and hardly sleeping. And while also sick. So. If this sucks, that’s terrible, and I can promise you, I can’t do better. My brain is oatmeal.

Olivia shifted uncomfortably in the seat beside Mitch, watching through the plexiglass as the cab driver ran Mitch’s credit card. She couldn’t help but acknowledge that it wasn’t even  _ really _ his, but rather that of someone named Mitch Kruse. She was wearing Mitch’s grey sweatpants that he reserved for sleeping, and one of his baggy black t-shirts underneath a slightly darker shade of black hooded zip-up jacket. She felt both exposed and too covered at the same time. 

Accepting his credit card back from the cab driver, Mitch spoke in French giving the man what Olivia could only assume was a thank you. Mitch stuffed the card into his leather wallet, stepping from the cab. He held one hand out to Olivia, helping her from the cab, as he stuffed his wallet into his back pocket with his other. He looked her over, sighing heavily at her. She looked like a child being forced to wear their dads clothes because they had gotten theirs dirty playing in the dirt. “You’ll have your own clothes to wear soon, Olivia.” Mitch promised, not dropping her hand. 

“Do we really have to do this?” Olivia asked, looking from the large store in front of her to Mitch at her side. He gave her a nod, taking a few steps towards the store. She pulled her hand from his, remaining in her spot. Mitch turned to face her, narrowing his eyes a little. 

“Let’s go, Olivia.”

  
“I don’t want to go shopping, and I certainly don’t want to have to hold your cold hand.”

  
“My hand isn’t cold.” Mitch argued, resting his fingers against his cheek.  _ Not cold,  _ he thought. “Olivia. Please. I don’t have any patience for this, can we please just go into the store. It’s cold out here, and you have my jacket.”

“Who’s fault is that?” Olivia grumbled, holding her hand out for Mitch to take. He did, lacing his fingers with hers. 

The two walked hand in hand into the store, Mitch looking quickly at the directory sign. “Womens is up the escalator.” He indicated towards the escalator with his free hand, keeping Olivias tight in his other. The two walked to the escalator, Olivia stepping onto the one before Mitch, turning to look down at him as the escalator climbed. 

“Do we really need to pose as a couple?” Olivia wondered, leaning her back against the railing. 

“Yes. If you don’t want the two of us to be given weird looks and asked odd questions in a language you don’t understand. Yes, we do. Besides, still just following orders.” Mitch supplied, giving Olivia a fake smile. 

“Orders from / _ who/?”  _ Olivia groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “This all knowing, all important boss of yours, Stan? The one who calls you randomly and tells you what to do. Which, of course you oblige to. Because you’re a dutiful little lap dog?” 

Mitch sighed and tugged on her hand, making her nearly fall, catching her before she did. “Don’t call me a lap dog.” Mitch warned, making sure she was steady again before removing his hand from her waist. “I do what I’m told because he’s my boss, Olivia. No other reason. Now. Slap on a fake smile and we’ll get this shopping over with and we can return to the hotel room where you can be horrible to me without the eyes of strangers on us.”

Olivia almost laughed at that. At how little Mitch knew about the privacy he didn’t actually have. 

“I would never date you,” Olivia said under her breath, stepping off of the escalator right before Mitch. 

Mitch pretended not to hear her comment, knowing she was lying because she was mad at him. Not that he cared, oh no. Mitch would never be concerned with whether or not Olivia would want to date him.  _ It’s not like I would date you either, _ Mitch thought to himself as he followed behind her. 

“I don’t know why you’re upset.” Mitch acknowledged, stopping when she did. “You’re getting clothes. Something you’ve been complaining about since -” he cleared his throat to stop his sentence. He worried about letting others know he rescued her, and was glad she caught on.

“I am not upset because I am getting clothes, Mitch. I’m upset because I’m cold, and I’m hungry since someone ruined breakfast.” 

“You ruined breakfast.” 

Olivia shrugged, “semantics.” 

Mitch loosely held Olivia’s hand, watching her peruse the underwear that was carefully displayed in neat rows. “How much are you willing to spend on me?” 

Mitch shrugged, pulling his phone out of his pocket, “it’s not my money Olivia. I don’t care how much you blow.” 

“I will not say something about that. I will not. No, Olivia.” She shook her head, returning her attention to underwear. Mitch raised his eyes to look at her as she spoke to herself, deciding to just leave it alone. 

The two stood in front of the underwear for a moment, Mitch engrossed in reading a report on his phone about activity near their hotel, Olivia trying to decide the best underwear to get. “What about these?” She asked, holding up a black cotton thong with lace accents on the waistband. 

Mitch sighed, “I couldn't care less about what underwear you choose Olivia. Please don’t ask me to be a consultant.” 

Olivia’s lips curled in the corners, “as my boyfriend I would expect you to care. You should put your phone away honey and show some interest in your girlfriend lest she go ask another man’s opinion.”

“Does it cover your ass?” Mitch questioned, keeping his eyes on the screen in his hand, his other gripping hers tighter. 

“Not really.” Olivia acknowledged, spinning the underwear around her index finger. 

“Then don’t get them.” 

“Why?” Olivia pouted her bottom lip out a little.

  
Mitch sighed, finally raising his eyes to meet hers. They soon lowered to her lips and finally to the thong revolving around in the air. “Olivia. Please stop spinning those panties around.” 

“Please give me your attention.”    
“I am.” 

Olivia sighed, handing him the underwear. “Let me find a few more pairs. I guess I’ve / _ got _ / to go with thongs since you want me to get something that doesn’t cover my ass.”

Mitch let out a heavy sigh, dropping the underwear back onto the display before shoving his phone into his pocket. “I believe I recommended you getting ones that / _ did/  _ cover your ass.”

“I figured you were playing reverse psychology or something on me.”

“If I were doing that I would tell you not to get any underwear at all.”

“Why?”

  
“So you would just to spite me.”

Olivia smirked, “that’s fair.”

He picked the pair she had picked out back up, holding them while she continued looking. She found another two pair, offering them to him to hold while she found a fourth. “Five pairs should do, right?”

“Double it, for safe measure. Always be over prepared.” 

“Oh, like you aren’t?”

“I didn’t expect to have another person in my clothes, Olivia. And I didn’t expect to be in Paris this long.”

“Always expect the unexpected, Mitch.” 

He closed his eyes so as to not roll them at her before smacking her across the face with the four pairs of underwear he held in his hand. “Always expect the unexpected.”

Olivia snatched the underwear from Mitch’s hand, giving him a stern glare. “Do not ever hit me in the face with my own underwear ever again.”   
“They aren’t yours yet,” Mitch pointed out, scratching at the uneven growth of hair along his jawline and up halfway on his left cheek. “You’ve got to pay for them first. Then they will be yours.”

She picked up a final pair of underwear, checking that she had ten. “Can I get a bra?”

“Do you need one?” 

Olivia looked down at her ample chest that was hidden underneath the clothing she wore. “Yes, Mitch. I think I need a bra.” She noticed a woman approaching them, offering them both a warm smile. Olivia groaned, “we’ve got company.”   
“Yes, Olivia, I have eyes.”

Olivia elbowed Mitch in the side and he quickly twisted their hands, moving her wrist to an uncomfortable position causing her to yelp audibly. She turned her body slightly towards him, giving him a look that pleaded he stop holding her wrist that way. He obliged a beat before the woman reached the two of them, greeting them in French. 

Olivia beat Mitch in responding, saying a cheery “hello” to her in English.

The womans face dropped for a millisecond, only Mitch catching it, before she launched into accented English. “Hello! What are you two looking for today?” 

“Well,” Olivia sighed looking at Mitch. “My darlin’ here is looking to buy me a bra.” She smiled, feigning an accent of her own. Something that sounded nearly southern, but had too much of a boston twang to it to be solely that. Mitch wondered how long he could bear to listen to her speak like that before he broke her neck. 

“Ah, wonderful. Our bras are right this way.” The woman smiled, noticing the underwear in Olivia’s hand. “One moment. I will get you a bag.” The woman bound off, and Mitch groaned. 

“Don’t talk like that anymore, Olivia. It is already wearing on my last nerve and you’ve said one sentence.”

Olivia rolled her eyes, “you wanted me to act like your girlfriend, right? I feel like this is how your girlfriend would talk.” Olivia felt a wave of deja vu wash over her. How much acting would she really have to do in the time she would be around Mitch?

The woman returned with a small bag which Olivia stuffed the underwear into. “If you would please,” the woman indicated for Olivia and Mitch to follow her, which they did. 

“Here are all of our bras,” the woman said with a smile, indicating the bra selection before them. “There’s a lot of A’s and B’s here,” the woman gestured to a selection of bras. “And the larger cup sizes are here.” She motioned to another section. "I'm sorry there's not much, but... To us, more than a handful is wasteful." She smile had a slightly superior air to it now as she looked down her nose at Olivia's chest, which refused to be hidden by the baggy clothes.

  
Olivia smiled and moved her hand from Mitch's grip in order to take his wrist in her hold. Olivia lifted their joined hands, holding his wrist while unlacing their fingers. She moved his hand via his wrist to her chest, having him cup her left breast. Mitch’s eyes instantly widened, fingers moving to cup her breast in his palm instinctively, noticing absently that she was cold. Olivia smirked as she jumped into her hodge podge of an accent. "I'm lucky that my sweetie here has big hands then. It fits just fine.” Olivia’s lips spread into a sickeningly sweet smile as she released Mitch’s wrist. His hand fell from her breast, finding her hand again. His fingers locked with hers, squeezing hard. Olivia was impressed with her ability to suppress her whimper. “I think we’ve got it from here, sugar. Thank you! If we need you again, we’ll find you.” 

The woman looked briefly disappointed before nodding, leaving the fake couple to look at bras together. “Shouldn’t you walk away now too, Mitch?” Olivia wondered, reaching out to pick a bra in a soft pink color. 

“You know, you’re wearing my jacket but somehow I think it’s still a bit nippy in here, Olivia.” 

Olivia stuck her tongue between her lips, biting down on it to keep from laughing. “Was that a pun, Mitch?” 

Mitch shook his head, “no. Why would it be a pun, Olivia? Oh! Are you saying I would know the state of your nipple? I mean, it wasn’t just forced against my palm, was it?” Mitch sighed, “wait. No. It was.” He shook his head, taking a deep breath. “To address your earlier question, Olivia, no. I shouldn’t walk away. Unfortunately for the both of us, I have to be glued to you. I would dramatically glue our hands together, however I don’t think that would be good for either of us. I’ve heard super glue is a real bitch to get off of the skin.”

“Not really,” Olivia shrugged. “I used to get super glue on my fingers all of the time when I was younger and putting an acrylic back on that had popped off due to my own stupidity. It was a simple removal process. Just took patience.” 

“Olivia,” Mitch looked down at their joined hands. “I have no patience, especially where you are concerned. To think I would have to endure the slow and arduous process of removing our glued together hands, that would be worse torture than I have ever seen.” 

Olivia furrowed her brows, looking to him. “Where the hell did you learn the word arduous?” 

“I have a basic level of education, Olivia. I’m so glad that my word choice can shock you that much, however.” 

Olivia groaned, “do you always have to talk like you’re addressing a college professor, Mitch? You can talk to me like a normal person.”

“I’m not your friend though, Olivia. I am your protector. I talk to my /friends/ like I would talk to a ‘normal person’. I talk to people I’m being forced to protect because my boss is some sadistic prick who is out for my head like I’m talking to a college professor. Sorry.” 

Olivia shrugged, “I think we should be friends, Mitch. You have touched my tit now. Twice.”

“Don’t call your breasts tits, please, Olivia.” 

“Why?”

“I asked you nicely.” 

Olivia rolled her eyes, “fine. You have touched my bossooms twice now, Mitch. I feel it would be nice if I could consider us friends. Even more so because you’re sworn to protect me. And I feel like you’re the type to want to protect friends.” 

“If I agree to us being friends, will you drop the subject?”

“Will you talk to me like I am not a professor?” 

“Sure.”   
“Then yes,” Olivia said with a smile on her face. 

Mitch watched her find a bra, the conversation involving her bosom and his dialect seemingly forgotten. “I’ve noticed something about you, Olivia.” Mitch started, following her towards another section of the store. “You say things to make me uncomfortable a lot. Like talking about your chest, and you’re kind of crass.” 

“Yeah? I’ve been with you three days, Mitch. You’re slow on the uptake.”

“I wasn’t finished,” Mitch rolled his eyes. “I’ve noticed you do this because you are in no way as confident as you’re trying to convince me you are. It’s apparent, through everything you’ve done and said, that you don’t feel any confidence in yourself right now. Which, is understandable. You were abducted and restrained and held for however long. I wouldn’t have any confidence in myself if I were you either.”

“Gee! When did you get your psychologist patch in the boy scouts, Mitch?” Olivia wondered, looking through some of the shirts on the rack she had stopped at, her hand still firmly in Mitch’s.

Mitch shook his head when she stopped on a mustard yellow shirt, and she kept searching. “See. You did it again, just now. You use your words to hide behind, Olivia. You think if you sound snarky enough, or crass enough, or hell. Even maybe mean enough, I’ll buy this act you’re peddling.”

Olivia’s heart began speeding up. Her cheeks feeling warmer, but her face unwavering.  _ He could not possibly know your secret,  _ she reminded herself.

Mitch continued, “you’re scared. And you don’t want me to know that.” Mitch sighed, using her hand to force her to turn and face him. “You don’t have to be scared anymore, Olivia. Like I think I’ve said before. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” 

Olivia gave him a genuine smile, “thank you Mitch.” 

He nodded, not bothering to return her smile. “I really do want you to hurry up though.” Mitch urged, watching her continue to peruse the shirt selection. 

“Fine. I’ll try to hurry.” Olivia promised, beginning to look faster through the clothes. “You know. If I had two hands, this process would be a lot easier for me.” Olivia promised, indicating she wanted her hand free of Mitch’s with a slight tug away from him. 

“You can have your hand,” Mitch said, releasing her fingers from his. “But if you try to run, so help me God, I will systematically break every bone in your right leg starting at the hip and working all of the way down to the last bone in your foot.”

Olivia stared at him with wide eyes, “Jesus. Calm down, Mitch. I’m not going to run. Why only one leg, though? Why not both?” Olivia wondered as she shook her head, turning back to face the shirts. She began plucking a few off of the rack, holding them out to Mitch. 

“Bones are hard to break, Olivia. That’s why they’re called bones. Not to mention, only breaking one leg would be a larger inconvenience to you than both. If you had both broken, you could use a wheelchair. With only one, you’d be given crutches. It would be a torture that lasted.” He took another shirt she offered him. “Am I your servant?” Mitch inquired, draping the shirts over his arm. 

Olivia nodded, “sure. Now don’t drop them, now. I don’t want them getting dirty,” she teased.

 

Olivia watched Mitch unlock the door to the hotel room, her hand tired from having to hold the bags for so long. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You know I can only use my good arm to hold the bags, Mitch. I feel like my arm is going to fall out.”

“How does an arm fall out, Olivia?” Mitch wondered, holding the door open for her to walk into the hotel room.

“Off, Mitch. I meant off. God, you give me a migraine.”

“I’m happy to hear it.” Mitch responded while locking the door behind the two of them, tapping on his cell phone. “You should go shower.”

“You should change the bandage on my shoulder.” Olivia replied, dropping the bag of her clothes to the floor, wriggling her toes in the warm white hotel slippers she had had to adorn for the shopping trip. “And thank you for getting me clothes.”

“You’re welcome.” 

Mitch walked past her into the bedroom, finding the first aid kit he’d used prior to stich her shoulder injury. “Come in here,” Mitch called, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Olivia walked in and sat down next to Mitch, taking his jacket off of her shoulders, tossing it to his duffle bag at the foot of the bed. She then removed the shirt she wore, showing off the black bra she had purchased earlier at the store with Mitch. “Thanks for bein’ my nurse.”

Mitch shrugged, “I have quite literally no other choice.”   
“You’re welcome, Olivia.” She said in a deep voice, mocking his. Mitch rolled his eyes at her, carefully removing the gauze from her shoulder, setting it down on the bed to be discarded later. “It’s healing.” Mitch acknowledged, leaning forward to see her wound up close. It was less inflamed than it had been previously, the edges looking less red. 

Olivia nodded, “that’s what things tend to do. I’m glad my body is doing it’s only job. Healing like it is supposed to.” 

Mitch took a cotton swab, dipping it into the bottle of hydrogen peroxide that he’d retrieved from the first aid kit. Carefully, and trying to avoid hurting her, he used the cotton swab to clean around the wound, ignoring her hiss of pain when he prodded the wound too hard. “You’re alright.” He said in his best soothing tone, trying to clean her wound quicker than before. 

“Hold this here, please,” Mitch placed a swatch of gauze over her shoulder wound, waiting for her to hold it in place before tearing a few pieces of tape off of the roll. “Thank you.” He placed a piece of tape on each of the four sides of the gauze, smoothing it down gently with his first two fingers. “There. All gauzed up.” 

Olivia smiled, “thank you. I’m gonna get dressed now, give you your clothes back finally.” She stood from the bed and shimmied out of the sweats she had borrowed from Mitch, folding them. 

“Olivia,” Mitch sighed, breathing heavily. “You’re uh,” he shook his head, lowering his eyes to his knees. “Do you have any idea what you’re wearing, or, rather what you aren’t wearing?”

“I’m getting dressed now, Mitch!” Olivia whined, leaving the bedroom to collect the bags of her clothes from the living room. She brought the bags into the bedroom, setting them down on the bed. 

“Olivia. You’re not wearing underwear.” Mitch pointed out, standing from the bed. “It’d be wonderful if you put some on.” 

Olivia’s cheeks flushed and she dug frantically in the bags on the bed trying to find a pair of underwear to pull on. Once she did she tugged them on, breathing a sigh of relief. “Okay, okay. I’m wearing underwear now. You’re safe to look.”

“Are you wearing clothes yet?” 

Olivia shook her head, “no?”

“Then I’ll be in the living room.”

Olivia watched Mitch walk out, her hands on her hips and her lip in a pout. “Fine, then. Go hide your boner in the other room.” Olivia huffed, turning her attention back to the bags to find clothes.

“Don’t flatter yourself into thinking you could / _ ever _ / give me a boner, Olivia.”

Olivia laughed, “don’t flatter yourself into thinking I care.”


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch steals a car, goes on a mission, and pisses off Olivia.

Mitch’s heavy footfalls reverberated off of the concrete walls of the hotels parking garage. His hands rest in the pockets of his dull black jeans. He had washed them far too many times, but in his line of work he found it necessary. He had gotten a little annoyed in the bathroom before he left when he realized that his shirt and jeans were different shades of black, but didn’t have the time or mental capacity to do anything about it.

The parking structure was dark, the cloud coverage letting next to no light through the large cutouts in the concrete walls. Mitch passed a few older cars, his attention lingering on each one, assessing how easily each would be to break into and hot wire.

He stopped walking, settling on a black Skoda Octavia. He walked towards the driver door, taking his utility knife from his back pocket. Mitch looked around once to make sure that he was alone in the parking structure before deciding the coast was clear enough for him to continue. He stuffed the blade of his knife into the window, hitting the handle with the palm of his hand. He waited with tense shoulders for an alarm to blare as he pulled the door open, his muscles relaxing the when there was no sound. He removed the blade of his knife from the window.

He slid behind the steering wheel, reaching underneath to find the plastic cap covering the steering column. He rolled his eyes at the small screws holding the cap in place. Pulling harder Mitch broke the plastic around the screws, the cap falling free, exposing the wires underneath.

Mitch took a second to remember which wires it were that he would need, pulling them free from the others.

Used his knife to strip an inch of insulation off of each of the wires, he let the insulation fall to the floor by his feet. He looked all of them over again, finding the two wires for the cars battery. He twisted them together, seeing the lights of the dashboard come alive. He carefully stuffed them in between the other wires to make sure they didn’t touch any of the metal of the car, returning his attention to the other wires. “What the fuck are you for?” He asked himself, looking from the confusing wire to the others. “Oh, right. I need you.” He acknowledged, realizing the wire in question belonged to the ignition. He found the partner wire, twisting the two of them together.

Taking a deep breath, Mitch stripped the starter wire. He held it for a second between his first finger and thumb.  _If I die now what an interesting police report that would be_ , Mitch thought to himself. He tapped the starter wire against the wires belonging to the ignition, sighing when the car didn’t automatically start. He tapped the wires together a few more times, listening to the engine turn over. Dropping the wires, Mitch pulled the door to the car closed, easing out of the parking spot while putting on his seatbelt with the hand that was not gripping the wheel.

Mitch lowered the visor to obscure half of his face from the camera he knew was positioned at the exit of the parking garage, making sure to lean back far enough against the seat that all the camera could pick up was his neck and chest.

When safely on the road Mitch pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialing Stan. He turned the call on speaker and set his phone in the cup holder, listening to the ringing. Stan answered on the last round, his voice gruff.

“Are you on your way?”

Mitch nodded, caught himself, and then spoke, “yes. Where am I meeting you?”

Stan was silent for a moment, “I just sent you the coordinates. You can find your way here.”

Mitch rolled his eyes, picking his phone up from the cup holder, jabbing his thumb against the call end button. After finding the coordinates Stan sent in his texts, and punching it into his phones GPS, Mitch was finally on his way to the meeting location.

He would be lying if he didn’t admit he was excited to finally be out of his hotel room.

-

Mitch slammed the door to the Octavia, cursing under his breath over the fact he’d have to start it again and risk a potential electrocution. “Hurley,” Mitch called out to the nearly empty store he walked into. The sign was off, no employees present. He picked up a shirt from the stack beside the door, gave it a once over, and dropped it back to the neat pile.   
“Do you have to ruin things everywhere you go?” Stan wondered from behind the counter of the store, holding a cup of coffee. “I got you orange juice. Figured you could use the vitamin C.”

“Why do you care about me getting my vitamins, Sir?”

“Why do you always irritate the shit out of me?”

Mitch shrugged.

Stan raised his hand with the cup of orange juice in it, offering it to Mitch. Mitch took the cup without a word, swallowing a mouth full of the juice. “Pulp? Really?”

“I wasn’t aware you had an aversion to it, your highness. Would you like me to strain it for you?”

Mitch rolled his eyes and took another drink.

Stan dragged his eyes over Mitch, furrowing his brows. “You really stepped out of the box with this outfit, here, Rapp. Didn’t you? Black on black. A bold choice. Are you aware there are other colors?”

“I believe black isn’t a color, it’s a shade.”  
“Okay, Picasso. I don’t give a shit. I’m just saying, you should try different ‘shades’ or different colors. It’d probably make you look less miserable.”

“I don’t look miserable?”

Stan nodded, “more so than usual, even.”

Mitch sighed, “well I’ve never been trapped in a room for three weeks with someone who is slowly driving me mad.”

Stan smirked, “oh? Trouble in paradise?”

“I would never call being forced to babysit a grown adult paradise.”

Stan shrugged, sipping his coffee. “What’s the matter with the happy couple?”

“Stan it’s been three weeks, and the two of us have spent nearly every second trapped together in the same small hotel room. Do you know how insufferable a woman suffering from what I can only imagine is cabin fever can be?”

Stan laughed, loudly, the sound dancing around the closed store. “Why don’t you take her for walks?”

“She isn’t a dog,” Mitch rubbed his forehead tiredly. “She’s just so much. She asks  _so_  many questions, Stan. I’ve never met someone who wants to know as many things as she does. She’s finished the books I gave her. She’s not allowed a phone or a computer, so that limits her entertainment. I swear, if she asks me one more question I’m going to knock all of her teeth out.”

“Woah, easy there, Rapp. That’s bold.”

“You’ve threatened to gut me with my own hair brush before, Stan?”

Stan laughed, bringing his coffee up for another swallow. “I forgot about that one. That’s good. I’ll have to remember it for future use.”

Mitch rolled his eyes and took another swig from his pulpy juice. Looking around the store they were in, Mitch noticed a file folder to the right of Stan. He made to grab it, Stan catching his wrist immediately.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Grabbing the folder right there.” Mitch stretched his index finger out to point at the aforementioned folder. Stan shook his head, pushing Mitch back by his wrist.

Stan picked the folder up, resting it underneath his arm. “Follow me,” Stan instructed. Mitch plucked a pair of sunglasses off of the display near the counter, pushing them into the pocket of his jeans. The two men exited the store through the back, Mitch surprised not to see a few workers knocked out in the back room. “You’re going to have to leave your dog home alone for a few days, Rapp. Think she can handle herself?”

“Yes. I will go back and leave some food for her, make sure she doesn’t starve. She should be alright. She’ll like the time apart.”

“You sure about that?”

Mitch nodded, glancing around the back alley that the two of them were standing in, sighing heavily. Nothing interesting to be seen, no bad guys lurking in the corners ready to slit Mitch’s throat the second he was spotted. Mitch downed the remainder of his orange juice, tossing the plastic cup to the side, watching it roll a few feet.

Stan brought his hand up, smacking the back of Mitch’s head. “Go pick that up. We don’t fucking litter.”

“You throw shit on the ground all of the time, Sir.”

Stan nodded at the cup to prove that he wasn’t kidding. Mitch huffed loudly, dutifully walking over to pick up the empty plastic from the ground, crumbling it up in his large hand. “Where is a trash can?”

Stan shrugged his shoulders, “how should I know? Just throw it on the ground and lets go. I don’t have all day to wait around for you to find one.”

Mitch took in a deep breath through his nose, pitching the crumpled cup down the alley. With a huff of annoyance Mitch pulled his thieved sunglasses from his back pocket, pushing them onto his face. Stan lead the two of them down the alley to where a sleek black sports car was parked. Mitch thought back to the Octavia he had stolen this morning and had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“I thought you appreciated subtlety, Stan? Not flashy sports cars.”

Stan smirked, pressing the unlock button on the key fob. “I can appreciate a good sports car, Rapp. Now get in and shut up. I’ll tell you about the job on the way.”

Mitch held onto the handle of the hotel door with a weak grip, his left shoulder leaning against the wood. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, and the electronic key was proving quite a challenge. “Just fucking turn green you unnecessary piece of shit machinery. You serve one purpose, why can’t you just -”

Mitch stumbled a bit as the door was yanked away from him, his body falling forward, his right shoulder colliding with the doorframe. Olivia watched him grab hold of it, her hand rest on her hip as she watched him. Mitch raised his eyes to meet Olivia's, letting out a loud breath afterwards, his head lowering again. “You just gonna stand there?”

Olivia shook her head, “no.” She pursed her lips, pushing on his head to make him stumble backwards. Mitch’s hand flew up, grabbing hold of the door frame just in time to keep himself from falling to his ass. He righted himself, giving Olivia a glare worthy of an oscar.

Olivia backed up, immediately feeling concern wash over her. “Where have you been?” She questioned Mitch, continuing to back away from him. He stalked into the room like a lion with his eyes set on a particularly plump wildebeest.

“If you ever lay your hand on me again, Olivia, it will be detached from your wrist.”

Olivia rolled her eyes, trying to seem bothered by the assassin before her. “You don’t scare me,” she smirked. “Couldn’t scare a girl scout with the way you look, Mitch. Though your scent could probably ward a lot of people off.”

Mitch gave Olivia another oscar worthy look, one that would make Meryl Streep bow down in amazement. “That’s it,” he snarled. He took a lurching step forward, grabbing Olivia by the throat. “I’ve got to kill you now. To fucking hell with my assignment.”

Mitch had been gone three days, and Olivia couldn’t believe this was their reunion. She could tell he was weaker than usual by the grip around her neck. Olivia clawed at his hand, trying to convey a level of panic she didn’t have. She could have gotten out of his hold fifteen different ways if she wanted to, without having to think much. She hated having to pretend to be untrained. She eyed him, noticing a tear in his shirt on his side. She stuck the first three fingers of her right hand against it, pressing firmly. Mitch’s hand dropped from Olivia’s neck like it had suddenly burst into flames, a hiss slithering from between his teeth.

“I’m gonna rip you up, bitch.” Mitch’s voice held no real threat to it as he clutched at his side. He looked tired, and now irritated.

Olivia snarled, taking a defensive stance against Mitch. “I fucking dare you. How many more hits could you take before you collapsed, huh? Two, three? I could take you, and I don’t even know how to fight. Don’t fucking stand there threatening me. Cause, it won’t be me that ends up getting hurt. You look exhausted and already on deaths door.”

Mitch took a second before replying, “I have a loaded firearm, Olivia.”

She shrugged, watching him closely. He looked like his breathing was labored, and he hadn’t showered in days. There was an angry purple bruise blossoming along his jaw, his eyes heavily bagged. Luckily, from her visual assessment of him, he didn’t look too physically damaged. Just like he’d had a rough three days on the field. She figured with some sleep he’d be fine in the morning.

“Gross,” she huffed, eyeing a few blood droplets on the carpet. “You’re dripping onto the floor.”

Mitch rolled his eyes, pressing his hand to the culprit of the bleed. His cut had scabbed over until she’d hit it. “My apologies. This carpet is truly my biggest concern right now. How could I be so inconsiderate, Olivia?”

Olivia glared at him, resting her hands angrily on her hips. She was used to his sarcasm and snark, but was in no mood for it today. She wasn’t going to admit it to another soul, so help her, but she had missed Mitch. Even found herself worrying about him for a few fleeting moments while she was laying down for bed. For him to come back and act like this? She was annoyed. “You know what? Leave. Just leave. Go fuck off somewhere else.”

“This is my room,” Mitch reminded her.

“It’s your boss’s room.”

“I should have left you to be fucking handled by that arms dealer.”

Olivia mocked him, giving him a glare as she took a step closer to him. “Are you going to stop being such a dick?”

“No,” Mitch huffed. He reminded Olivia of an upset child. He almost looked like one as well, hand clutching his side, hair a mess. He looked like he’d been rummaging around in the dirt. She felt worse for him the longer she eyed him.

“I’m gonna have to take care of you now, aren’t I?”

Mitch shook head head, his head aching dully in protest. “No, absolutely not.”

Olivia sighed heavily, “fine. Stubborn ass. Go ahead, I’ll just stand back and let you handle this yourself.”

Mitch grumbled, taking a few deep breaths before he grabbed the neck of his shirt, pulling it off over his head, letting it fall to the floor. Olivia watched him stretch his neck and his arms, his muscles flexing and pulling underneath his skin. She tried hard to remember that she hated him. Unfortunately for Olivia a stronger and more primal part of her being was convincing her brain she didn’t.

There was a wide bruise painted on his ribcage, flowering out against his skin in dirty hues. She figured it was from a plank of wood hitting him, and she hoped that he wasn’t harboring a broken rib or two. He turned from her then, walking with evident exhausting into the bedroom.

Olivia bent and picked up his shirt, noticing that it felt crusty. She dropped it back to the floor, making a disgusted face. “Did you go mudding while you were gone? Your shirt’s crunchy.”

Mitch rolled his eyes, busying himself with his belt. “No, it’s blood. Don’t touch my things.”

“I’ll touch anything of yours that I want to.”

“Oh, clever. You really are so quick.”

Olivia flared her nostrils, entering the bedroom as he yanked his belt from the loops of his jeans. Olivia crossed her arms underneath her chest, watching him fumbling with the button on his jeans. “You’re moving slower than my arthritic grandmother, Mitch.”

“Stop watching me.”

Olivia rolled her eyes, walking over to him. She slapped his hands out of the way, unfastening his button for him. Mitch raised his brow at her, looking down at her hands on his jeans. She slid his zipper down, pulling her hands away.

“Are you planning on getting down on your knees for me next, Olivia? Because, if not, you shouldn’t fucking do that.”

“Oh, if only you were nicer to me.”

Mitch made an annoyed face, pushing his jeans off of his hips. Stepping out of them, he got a bit unsteady on his feet, Olivia’s hand shooting out to grab his. “God, you couldn’t stay conscious for a blow job, Mitch.”

“I promise that I could.”

“Maybe when you don’t try choking me I’ll consider it.”

Mitch smirked, heading for the bathroom, “some girls are into that, Olivia.”

Olivia bit on her bottom lip, pulling the flesh taught between her teeth. She wanted to let him handle whatever he was about to do alone. Wanted to have confidence that he would be fine, that she would not be needed for assistance. She wanted to stay away from him.

Her feet, however, did not. She found herself walking into the bathroom unconsciously, her toes curling against the cold laminate flooring. Mitch was standing at the bathroom counter, leaning against his hands. His head was hung low, and his knees were locked. “Are you alright?” She asked, her voice soft.

Mitch turned his head to look at her, any cockiness or malice his expression once held had now disappeared. “Yeah, I’ll be okay. I’m mostly just tired. It’s been a long three days,” Mitch confided in her, letting go of the counter. He turned to rest his butt against it, his arms crossing over his chest. “Wanna look at this?” He asked, and she knew he meant the wound she’d utilized earlier to get him away from her.

She crossed the bathroom to him, resting her hand on the v of his hip as she crouched to get a better look at the wound. “This is pretty superficial from the looks of it. I don’t think you’ll need stitches. It’s starting to scab again.”

Mitch sighed happily, he wasn’t in the mood to be poked with a needle. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He really and truly was exhausted. His body had been pushed through the wringer, his limbs aching from abuse. Mentally, he was awake. He’d passed the point of exhaustion where he felt like he was out of it, his brain pulling on whatever energy reserve he had to make him feel alert. He knew if he attempted sleep at the current second it would prove fruitless.

Olivia stood up straight, “let me clean this for you. See if it really is superficial or not.”

“Sure,” Mitch breathed out, not lifting his head. When her hand left his hip he absently missed its warmth. “Just do whatever you have to,” Mitch added, leaning back against his palms. He could feel the adrenaline he’d been relying on curtailing. He cleared his throat, pushing his tongue slowly between his dry lips.

As Mitch stood against the counter he considered his choices of the past three days.\He wished he would have denied Stan’s job 72 hours prior, wished he’d stayed curled up in bed, warm and partially smothered underneath Olivia. He wished that he’d been quicker with his trigger and hadn’t stopped a two by four with his ribs. He wished, in a fleeting sense, that he were eating something.

His eyes snapped open the moment he felt a warm washcloth be pressed against his abdomen. He kept his head leaned back, pulling his lips back between his teeth. His eyes managed to close, the sting of Olivia working on his wound not nearly bad enough to require his sight. She held his hip again, her thumb just above the band of his underwear. She wondered how long he would allow her to touch him before he got annoyed. “You’re gonna be okay,” Olivia acknowledged, using the cloth to wipe at the rest of his stomach after she’d cleaned his cut.

“Damn. I was really hoping this superficial wound was gonna be the one that did me in.”

Olivia rolled her eyes, tossing the washrag into the sink. “You really should shower, Mitch. It’ll help.”

“I’m planning on it.”

Olivia sighed, “when?”

“Eventually,” Mitch mused, bringing a hand up to run through his tangled hair. “Would you like to join me?”


	9. Eight - The Come Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch and Olivia get up to illicit affairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains mild smut. Do not read if you're uncomfortable with that.

Olivia looked up from Mitch’s hip to his bruised jaw, her eyes widened, automatically swallowing the saliva that had pooled in her mouth at the thought. She had to mentally abhor herself for the first handful of thoughts she’d had. Her mind recalled her conversation with Stan during their first night in Paris.

_Stan was sat across from her, his arms resting on the back of the chair he’d turned around to straddle. Olivia’s mind had taken quite a few seconds to process the fact Stan had just told her that Mitch would find out if the carpet matches the drapes. She thought of how she confidently declared that she was_ _**not** _ _going to sleep with him. That she told herself she would keep in check. She realized now, as she pondered over the prospect of showering with him, that she had hardly a shred of self control where he was concerned. Stan was absolutely correct when he told her about him. Mitch Rapp really was a pretty bastard._

Shaking her head, Olivia released his hip. “I shouldn’t. You would just find a reason to get pissed off at me.”

“Don’t give me one and I won’t be able to find one. We’ve been trapped in the same room with each other for three weeks, Olivia. It’s not hard to figure out things I do and don’t like.”

Olivia smirked, “no it’s not. I know that you do like silence, and you don’t like me.”

Mitch let out a chuckle, nodding his head slightly. “That was a good one, actually. I can appreciate that.”

Olivia smiled, “you must be exhausted. You’re actually giving me props?”

“Don’t expect it ever again,” Mitch sighed; rolling his head a little to get his neck to crack, the sound echoing in the small bathroom. “Anyway, suit yourself Olivia. I have to shower, with or without your company. If you wanna leave, do so now before I get naked. Please?”

Olivia shook her head, licking her lips, pulling her lips back between her teeth with her tongue, letting her top lip free, keeping her bottom still securely held. “I’ll join you. You did help me bathe after all. The very least I can do is return the favor.”

Mitch nodded, not bothering to verbalize a response to her. He inhaled deeply, gathering his strength. “How do you like your showers?”

“Wet?”

Mitch rolled his eyes, “I asked how you liked your showers, Olivia. Not a status update on what's between your legs.”

Olivia’s throat became dry, her eyes narrowing to slits. “I hate you.” 

Mitch smirked, dancing his fingers in the water from the shower head, “so I was right?”

“No. Would you please not be filthy? You’re basically a corpse right now.”

Mitch shrugged like that had no relevance, “I thought my filth was the sole motivation behind this shower?”

Olivia made a face at him, conveying her annoyance. She watched him fiddle with the shower knob, his shoulders slumped. “Are you ever going to get in?”

“Am I?” 

Olivia glared, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Mitch smiled, knowing she couldn’t see it. “It’s open for interpretation,” he mused, finally satisfied with the temperature of the water. He wiped his hand on the side of his underwear, realizing it was unnecessary only after the fact. “I’m going to get in now. Feel free to join whenever you want.”

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of boxer briefs, sliding the dark grey material down his thighs. Olivia watched with avid interest, her teeth gnawing into her bottom lip. “I’ll be right in,” she rushed, turning and averting her gaze, realizing she needed to get undressed. She yanked her shirt off over her head, her heartbeat beginning to thrum in her ears. She wasn’t even remotely nervous for Mitch to see her nude, it was a regular occurrence between the two. The same could not be said for the reverse of that. 

Olivia took in a few batted breathes as she shoved her pants and underwear to her ankles, her mind stuck on the man in the shower behind her. She had spent three weeks getting as close to him as he would allow, learning everything he felt he could share with her. Sleeping next to him every night. And yet, Olivia had never considered this moment would come to fruition. That she would be faced with showering with him. That he’d expose himself to her in a new way. 

Olivia shook her head as she unlatched her bra, rolling her eyes to herself. _I_ _ t’s just a fucking shower, Olivia. Nothing is going to happen. He’s bleeding and beaten. Get out of your own head,  _ she admonished herself. She heard Mitch groan from the shower, her heart thudding hard in her chest. “Are you alright?”

“I scratched my stomach,” Mitch explained.

“Oh,” Olivia nodded, “well. Don’t do that.”

She didn’t have to be able to see his face to know that Mitch had rolled his eyes at her. Taking a few preparatory breaths, Olivia stepped into the shower through the cutout in the glass panel. Mitch was stood with his back to her, his head bowed underneath the spray of the shower head, his left hand pressed against the wall to support himself. 

Olivia slowly dragged her eyes down his body, starting at his broad shoulders and pausing at what could only be described as the most perfectly formed bubble butt she had ever had the fortune of witnessing with her own two eyes. She consciously stopped herself from pinching it, in fear he would turn and punch her. Shaking her head, her eyes continued their journey down the rest of his form. He had a bruise on the back of his thigh that she realized she wanted to somehow magically heal with her lips. She was sure the same would work for his ribs as well.

“Are you going to ever get in?” Mitch spoke louder than necessary, head still under the water. Olivia hesitantly reached out, resting her hand flatly against his shoulder blade. “I did,” she said in a soft voice. She’d never spoken to Mitch in the tone she currently held, wondering to herself where it had come from.

Mitch turned to face her, pushing his wet hair from his face. Olivia took an automatic step back, forcing her eyes to remain trained on his face. “Hi,” his voice sounded like a sigh, his lips turning up at the corners like a ghost of a smile. “You’re blushing.” He observed.

“The bathroom is hot, it’s making my cheeks red,” Olivia defended. Mitch shrugged his shoulders, not bothering to be subtle in his survey of her body. His lips held a complete smile now, licking his lips predatorily. 

Olivia backed up again, her arm coming up to cover her chest self-consciously. Somehow this felt rawer than any other time she’d been nude in front of him. She felt more on display than ever before, like she was for the first time showing her body to the man before her. Mitch’s gaze had never enveloped her so completely. She found herself feeling like she was going to be criticized at any moment, judged on her every curve and flaw. Mitch took a step closer to her, compensating for the one she’d taken away from him, spray from the shower bouncing off of his shoulders and onto her skin. 

“Are you alright?” He wondered, looking from her face to the arm covering her chest. “You can get out if you’d like? You look uncomfortable.”

Olivia quickly and adamantly shook her head, “I’m just.. This is new for me.”

“What? Being naked? I beg to differ,” Mitch chuckled.

Olivia scoffed, “no. You being naked. I feel so exposed now that you’re not dressed anymore… And you look like that.”

“Beaten?” Mitch wondered, glancing down at his stomach.

“Gorgeous,” Olivia corrected. 

Mitch’s head pulled back a little bit in shock. He hadn’t been called gorgeous in as long as he could remember. Now he was the one feeling something new. “You’re the first person to say that to me in at least three years, Olivia.” 

Olivia frowned, “oh… I’m sorry, Mitch.”

He shrugged, giving her a genuine smile as he took a final step closer to her, closing the distance between the two of them. “No, don’t be sorry,” he whispered, barely heard over the sound of the water pounding against the shower floor. “Thank you,” Mitch leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Her eyes widened in shock. She had figured that he was going to do something, but she hadn’t anticipated the way her heart lurched against her chest. Olivia’s hand raised, tangling her fingers in the wet and knotted hair at the base of his neck. The two found their lips smoothing together in a quick exchange, their bodies gradually pressing against each other. 

Mitch broke the kiss when Olivia went to rest her hand on his side, pulling away from her with such abruptness that Olivia began fearing she’d done something wrong or he’d come to his senses. “What?” Her voice was gentle, her face showed her concern.

“You put your hand on my cut,” Mitch said, indicating it by pointing at the red gash on his stomach. Olivia’s eyes lowered to look at the cut, immediately snapping them back up to meet Mitch’s. 

He laughed a little, realizing why she had averted her gaze so suddenly and now looked like a child who had just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Olivia,” Mitch chuckled. “It’s fine if you look at me. I have, after all, seen every inch of you. Besides, I invited you to shower with me. I don’t expect you to suddenly go blind for the duration.” 

Olivia rubbed the back of her neck, “right.” 

She sighed, allowing her eyes to wander further than she had dared before he’d given her the green light. “Oh,” she said in a breathy way. “I wasn’t expecting… so much.”

Mitch furrowed his brows, covering his dick with his hands. “Now you can get out? That was offensive.”

“That was a compliment,” Olivia amended. “I expected a good dick. I mean, I’ve had it pressing against my thigh a few times in the nights we’ve shared a bed. I just, wasn’t expecting you to be so… well endowed.” 

Mitch smirked, licking over his teeth. “Thank you,” he laughed, removing his hands from his groin. “My dick and I are flattered.” 

Olivia covered her face with her hand, trying not to laugh in his face. “You’re something else, Mitch.”

Mitch shrugged, stepping back under the spray of the shower. “Thanks, again.” He tilted his head back just enough for his forehead to be under the water. “Now we’re on an even playing field, Olivia. We have both seen each other naked. Good for us.”

Olivia nodded, “I suppose you’re right.” She leaned back against the shower wall, watching the water roll down Mitch’s body. She would be in utter denial if she said his body wasn’t wonderful, or that she didn’t want to race the water washing over his skin with her tongue. 

Mitch reached out to grab the shampoo from the small cutout in the wall, wincing unconsciously as he did so. Olivia snapped out of her thoughts, jumping into the nurse role. “What? Are you alright?”

Mitch groaned, “I’m fine.” He held the shampoo bottle firmly in his hand, taking calculated breaths to force himself to ignore the blistering pain of his ribs. 

Olivia sighed heavily, “no you’re not.” She took his wrist in her hand, forcing his fingers to release the shampoo bottle to her. “I’ll help you,” she said. “Repay you for bathing me when I couldn’t bathe myself.”

Mitch pursed his lips together, wanting to refuse, wanting to be independent and wash himself. His stubborn, independent side however lost out to his exhaustion. “Fine,” he relented. Taking a brief second to contemplate the best way they could arrange themselves so that she could reach his hair, Mitch decided that kneeling would serve him best. 

Olivia waited, allowing him to get situated in front of her, looking down at him with amusement. “Comfortable?”

“Relatively,” Mitch leaned his head forward, letting Olivia have access to his hair. She poured shampoo into the palm of her hand, beginning to massage it into his wet brown locks. Mitch leaned his head forward further, enjoying the feel of her fingers against his scalp. He’d not had someone’s fingers running through his hair in a little over three years, and he hadn’t realized he’d missed the action. He rest his hands on his thighs while she busied hers within his hair. When she asked him to tilt his head back so she could rinse the shampoo out, he happily obliged, feeling better now that his hair had been cleaned. 

He never realized how vital a shower was to him feeling good until now. When she’d removed her hands from his head, satisfied with her washing job, he looked up at her. “Thanks.”

She nodded, smiling faintly. “Of course. Don’t get up yet, I’ve got to do the conditioner.”

Mitch sighed, knees feeling sore from kneeling. “Fine,” he lowered his eyes from her face, noticing for the first time where his face was in relation to her body. “Hmm,” he smirked. “I’m close enough that I could taste you,” he acknowledged, leaning forward a little to place a soft kiss to her hip.

Olivia’s cheek flushed as she began working the conditioner into his hair, “how about you let me finish and I taste you instead? You’re the injured one here, after all.” 

Mitch smiled at the prospect, “I think you have yourself a deal, Olivia.” 

She worked slowly in getting his hair lathered with conditioner, her body nearly tingling from his words and kiss. Olivia could hardly believe she’d just made the offer that she had. She wasn’t brash, nor bold. She wasn’t sure what had come over her, though she didn’t think she regretted it. 

When Mitch was finally allowed up, his knees cracked when stretched completely. He sighed, bending his back slightly to stretch it, a few pops sounding from his spine. Olivia watched and listened, feeling sorry for the body before her that had clearly begun suffering from the constant and continual abuse it faced. She watched his muscles again, admiring his form. He was physically fit, anyone could acknowledge that when they saw him. Now that she’d had a chance to view him unclothed and in this particularly vulnerable state, she noticed that he was beautiful in a different way. That his stomach had scars from past pains, but that they accentuated his skin in a way that made her want to kiss them. She got to appreciate the flaws that decorated him. Got to see him the way she knew no one had in years.

She felt lucky. Lucky he let her in. She knew that he was her charge, that none of their relationship was organic; that everything that transpired between them was because Stan and Irene wanted the both of them together. She also knew that no one could make Mitch let his guard down, that he had to choose that for himself. That he trusted her, and she trusted him.

Mitch shuffled forward ever so slightly, letting the water only beat on his back, the heat soothing his aching muscles. Olivia wanted to be the water on him, to touch and feel all of him.

With raised eyebrows, she remembered that she could. That he had given her permission to taste him. She seized the opportunity to rest her hands on the v’s of his hips again, pulling her body close to his, pressing her chest against his body, being careful not to hurt him. Her lips worked themselves against his wet skin, licking the water from his collarbone before her teeth sunk against his skin, just hard enough to leave a mark. 

Mitch watched her with bated interest, trying to figure out if she knew she had his full consent or if she didn’t. When she pulled away from decorating his collarbones with kisses and bites, he found the words he wanted to say to convey his consent. “Olivia,” Mitch took a deep breath, his chest rising painfully from the exertion. “Tonight, everything that happens between us, whatever that may be… I want you to know I’m comfortable with it, with you.”

Olivia took a moment to think over what he said, rising to her tiptoes to press her lips with his. His tongue finding hers the moment her lips parted. His hands found their way to her waist, his fingers digging into her flesh with concupiscence, bringing her hips close to his own. Her arms wound around his neck, her chest pressing firmer against his own. He could feel her breathing which was a half breath faster than his own. 

Having her here, in his hold, opening herself to him; Mitch didn’t know if he was anxious, horny, happy or a weird mix of all three. He wanted to hold her, to lie in bed with her and let her stroke his arm with light fingers, to show her that he wasn’t weary of her as much as he probably should be. He wanted to take her underneath him and make her scream his name as he rhythmically moved his hips. He wanted to experience her waking up next to him and not having a snarky complaint for him. He wanted a modicum of normalcy with her.

Mitch’s chest constricted as the knowledge that she was a job came slamming back into his conscious like a freight train. He  _ couldn’t  _ have normalcy with her.  _ Couldn’t  _ experience her in all of the ways he foolishly hoped. He wasn’t allowed to. She wasn’t a girl he’d met at some bar and gotten to know. She wasn’t a friend he was developing feelings for. She was a case. 

He nearly pulled away from her kiss, nearly forced his exhausted mind to come to its senses and realize he was letting his emotions rear their ugly head and influence him. But,  _ God, _  her fingers of one hand had moved from his hair, where they were previously tangled, down to his shaft, wrapping loosely around the base, and he was forgetting what air was. 

He was forgetting what he was. Mitch was forgetting anything but her. Her kiss, her tongue, her taste, her touch. All he was, in that moment, was hers. Hers to use, to hold, to caress. He wished, in a small space in the back of his mind, that he was stronger than he was portraying in this moment. That he could push her away and decide to go to bed, dry off and get dressed, curl up on the mattress in the room. 

But then her hand started moving on him, and he was certain if she removed it he would collapse. His head fell back, his wet hair tickling the base of his neck, their lips breaking in connection. Mitch felt a pull in his stomach. Not the kind he usually associated with his dick being tugged at. A dark kind of pull that made his chest feel tighter than the bruise on his skin already had. He couldn’t name it, and daren’t try, but he knew the reason for the pull. Knew that the unease in his stomach was from unfamiliarity and a sense of betrayal. Of who? The answer came too quickly to him. 

Katrina.

His throat dried, his hands gripping tighter to the hips he held. He hadn’t been with anyone, not taken another into his arms or bed, since she died. He didn’t know if he still felt like he belonged to her, or if he just felt a sense of loyalty to her. Olivia moved his hands from her hips and his attention snapped from the painful realization that he was moving on, that he was no longer harboring the pining for the deceased; he focused on the girl before him who was peppering kisses down his body while she slowly sunk to her knees on the shower floor. He focused on her wet eyelashes against the tops of her cheeks, on her nose which he never noticed was perfectly sized to her face, on her lips which were intimately pecking at his skin. He focused on the way that he didn’t want her to be anyone else. He focused on how that thought comforted and terrified him.

Her mouth wrapping around the head of his penis sent a shiver rippling up his spine, his muscles all involuntarily tensing.  _ Fuck _ , he thought, eyes closing. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt someone’s mouth on him, the last time he’d been close enough to someone to want this with. Her mouth pushed further down on him, and God, he didn’t think she’d take him that far yet. Were blowjobs always this warm? He couldn’t remember. He’d gotten so used to the feel of his own rough palm that he was afraid he would come instantly from the new feel of her soft tongue and lips. She knew what she was doing, he noticed. He dared open his eyes and look down at her as she took more of his length between her lips to disappear within her mouth. The sight made his legs stiffen. He couldn’t remember what Katrina looked like when she was on her knees for him, and he didn’t think he wanted to. Wanted all of his memories to be of this sight now. Of Olivia swallowing him further and further and -

Mitch’s breath caught in his chest, his lungs forgetting to release it as he felt her nose brush against his lower stomach. Felt her throat give way to the head of his dick. He worried and waited for a gagging that she didn’t make. She slipped him from her mouth without a sound, his eyes widening a little in surprise. She stroked her hand along his wet dick for a few seconds while she repositioned her knees on the floor. He felt his stomach begin swirling in the tingling buildup kind of way when her lips wrapped around him and she took him down her throat again. He was fascinated with watching her move and work on him, with the way she bobbed her head and managed to suck and lick in a way that made his head feel fuzzier than the exhaustion had. The pain of his wound and bruises forgotten, replaced only by the warmth of her mouth. She reached up, dragging her blunt nails along his thigh before reaching between his legs to cup at his balls, rolling them gently between her fingers. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs, begging for the same release that his cum was. 

Her mouth lowered on him repeatedly, his hips twitching forward slightly and involuntarily. He didn’t think he would start fucking her mouth, that his hips were able to move of their own accord. That she would accept his movements so readily, that she would take his cock down her throat repeatedly without protest. He didn’t think he’d like being blown by her as much as he did. Minutes felt like hours, his head foggy with exhaustion and arousal. 

His stomach muscles spasmed as he came down her throat, his eyes slamming shut and his mouth going lax. He couldn’t even concentrate on anything besides his orgasm strongly enough to care that he looked like a fool. Olivia kept her mouth on him, only pulling back far enough to allow herself to tongue at the slit of his dick, lapping away the few final spurts of cum that were coating her mouth. 

When Mitch could process thoughts again, he found it in himself to speak. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He sounded like he hadn’t been breathing, which wasn’t false. Olivia licked her lips, swallowing to clear and clean her mouth, giving him a soft and reassuring smile. He held his hand out to her, helping her to her feet. She leant down, rubbing her knees with her hands. “Shower floors, not a favorite,” she joked, leaning around him to turn the shower off. “Let’s get you out and dried off. You really need to get into bed at this point. You look like you’re going to collapse, Mitch.”

He sighed, “probably.”

Olivia stepped out of the shower first, wrapping a towel around her body, offering one to Mitch. He secured the towel around his waist, taking in deep breaths as he tousled his hair between his fingers, water droplets being thrown around the bathroom. 

Olivia huffed, “hey. Scooby-Doo, watch where you shake your fur, would you?”

Mitch couldn’t find it in him to come up with a reply, settling for dropping a kiss to her cheek. “I’m going to bed,” he reported, dropping the towel he’d used to the floor.

Olivia watched him walk out to their bed and climb underneath the sheets, getting comfortable on his back. One of his hands rest protectively on the bruise of his ribs, the other outstretched on her side of the bed. Olivia rolled her eyes, an affectionate smile on her face. She threw her towel off, heading into the bedroom to find pajamas. 

“Move over, Mitch. That’s my side,” she called to him from the foot of the bed, hearing deep and even breathing as way of response. She sighed heavily, crawling into bed, getting comfortable against his side. He shifted slightly, wrapping his arm around her, his hand resting on her arm. She smiled again, kissing his chest that was being used as her pillow, tugging the blanket higher over their bodies. 

“Goodnight, Mitch.”


	10. Nine - The Paris Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Mitch and Olivia's 'shower'. The two share a sordid morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains smut, do not read if you're uncomfortable with that.

The sun pouring in through the soft curtains of the room roused Mitch from sleep, his face feeling warm from the ray directly cast on his cheek. He took in a deep breath, feeling comfortable all over. He went to roll over onto his side, becoming aware again of the bruising of his ribcage and the cut on his abdomen. His arm was pinned underneath Olivia, her hand resting on his stomach, her fingers resting over the patch of hair underneath his navel.

Mitch rubbed his palm over his lips, trying to sort through all of the thoughts he’d had the previous night. He’d been half asleep, his mental blocker barely working to keep any and all thoughts he had wanted locked away in their holding. He thought of how he’d felt about Olivia last night, and how he was certain he was never going to verbalize those thoughts to her. He sighed, closing his eyes and seeing the image of her on her knees before him painted against his bright eyelids.

“Olivia,” he whispered, opening his eyes again. She shifted against him, the feeling of her silk underwear against his thigh startling him. He looked down to see the blanket discarded at the end of the bed, her leg draped over his thighs. He reached down to gently rub her leg, trying to wake her up. “Olivia,” he repeated, this time receiving a groany response. 

He sighed, rubbing higher on her leg, “Olivia.” 

She groaned again, this time sounding more awake than before. “Olivia, roll over.” 

She huffed, obliging his command, throwing her leg off of him with a dramatic flare. She flopped on the bed, bouncing to her other side. Mitch pushed up onto his elbows, looking her over in the morning light. Her hands were beside her face, her thumb pressed against her lips. She looked so soft, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning over to kiss her arm. Her legs were next, on display thanks to her aversion to pants during the night. He placed soft kisses from her hip to ankle, noticing her muscles tense. She was awake. The fucking faker. 

Mitch moved toward the end of the bed, leaning over her a little to be able to reach her hip, pushing her over so that she was now laying on her back. He heard a soft whimper leave her lips and he worried that was her way of protest. When she shifted around, getting herself comfortable on her back, he decided continuing wouldn’t be rejected. He nudged her knees a little, and she took his hint, spreading her legs on the bed. She kept her eyes closed, her expression still blank with sleep. Mitch pushed her legs open wider, situating himself between them on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows slightly, he lowered his lips to kiss along the inside of her thigh. She shifted her hips, huffing a little as she did so. He adjusted his position to keep all weight off of the cut he harbored, continuing his kisses higher up her thigh. Reaching the bend in her thigh where it connected to her hip, he paused, pulling back a little. She didn’t react, her arm now covering her eyes, probably shielding them from the sun. He rest his hand on her thigh, breathing heavily. “Olivia, I need you to answer me.”

She groaned, letting him know she was listening to him. 

“Are you okay with me kissing you?”

She grunted, he took this to mean yes.

“Are you okay with me doing this?” He lowered his head again, kissing along her hips and down along the soft fabric of her underwear. She inhaled deeply, letting it out in a shaky breath. Her response to this question sounded more like a whimper than her previous grunts and groans. He smiled, lifting his head once more. “Can I take your underwear off, Olivia?”

She whimper groaned again, lifting her own hips off of the bed so that he could easily slide her underwear off of her body. He tugged on the hem, pulling them slowly down her legs. He had to sit up on the bed to allow her to bring her legs closer together so he could pull the silk fabric off of her body completely. He let her legs return to the bed, tossing the underwear over the edge of the bed. Her thighs were closed again and he worried she’d changed her mind, sitting back against his heels to look down at her. She took a second to lay there before she eventually sat up, pulling her night shirt off over her head. She tossed it over the side of the bed where it landed beside her underwear. She hadn’t opened her eyes the entire time, falling heavily back against the bed, Mitch captivated by the way her breasts bounced from her movement. 

Mitch waited for another beat, smiling when Olivia spread her legs again of her own volition. His eyebrows arched the slightest bit when he saw her spread in front of him, stark naked and willing. If he were a weaker man, he’d have fucked her right then. 

Laying back down between her legs he began to worry that he’d forgotten how to do the only thing he wanted at this very moment. Lowering his mouth, he kissed along her lips, moving her legs even further to allow himself more room. She bent her legs at the knees, Mitch let her adjust before he continued kissing at her. She breathed loudly again and Mitch rolled his eyes, assuming she was nonverbally telling him to get on with it. He pushed his tongue between her lips, stroking the tip against her clit, causing her to inhale deeply. He smirked against her, flicking his tongue against her clit in a random speed, pressing his tongue harder against her when she started responding. His hand came up between the two of them, rubbing at the bud when he moved his mouth lower to lick into her entrance, her soft moans acting as encouragement as he licked and rubbed her in sync, trying to get her to her edge. He changed his mouth and finger placement, slowly sliding one of his digits into her, curling it up while licking at her, moving at a different pace than his finger to keep her stimulated. 

Olivia’s hips began wriggling a little underneath him as she became more vocal. Mitch added another finger, curling it with the first, continuing his tongue on her clit while she continued wriggling, reaching down between her legs to fist Mitch’s hair in her hand. She tugged, pulling him against her more, leading him in how she wanted him to eat her out by tugging and grinding, breaking down in loud moans. He smiled, happily letting her fuck his face against herself, moving his fingers a little faster inside of her. He heard her breathing pick up, her moaning sounding more desperate and wanton. She was clenching around his fingers and he knew she was close, nearly cumming over his fingers and tongue.

He abruptly pulled out of her, removing her hand from his hair. He licked his lips, sitting up on his knees, head turned toward the bedroom door. Olivia let out a desperate, loud, moany whimper, pulling at his hand, feeling empty and left hanging. “Mitch,” she whined, voice hoarser than usual.

“Sh,” he pushed up from the bed, finding a pair of pants to pull on. “Stay here,” he ordered, walking out of the bedroom toward the door of the hotel room. He heard Olivia’s whine from behind him, and he felt absently bad for leaving her hanging. He brought his hand up to wipe at his lips, rubbing his wet palm on his jeans. 

Pulling the door open, Mitch was prepared to send away housekeeping, launching into french. “ Nous n'avons pas besoin d'entretien ménager aujourd'hui.”

Stan stood in front of Mitch with a smirk on his face, an eyebrow raised at him. “I think you do need a bit of housekeeping, Mitch. You look like a mess, I’m sure the rest of the room isn’t much better.”

Mitch stood straighter, bringing the fingers of his right hand to rub over his lips. “I don’t think now’s a good time for a visit, Stan. Olivia isn’t feeling that well.”

Stan brushed past Mitch into the living room of the hotel suite, waiting for Mitch to shut the door behind him. Mitch was profoundly grateful that he couldn’t see into the bedroom from where they were standing. When Mitch turned to face Stan, he felt judged instantly. “Is there a problem?” Mitch questioned, resting his hands on his hips. 

Stan shook his head, “no. Just noticing the bruises on your collar.” Stan indicated the collar of his own shirt and Mitch fought hard to keep from covering the hickies he didn’t know Olivia had given him. 

“I had a rough couple of days. Look at this one,” Mitch turned to better show Stan the large bruise on his rib cage, hoping to distract him a little.

Stan reached out, smacking the bruise hard. Mitch bent forward, his hand coming up to protectively cover the bruise. “You’ll be fine, kid. That’s not that bad, and nothing’s broken. Trust me, that smack would’ve told you if something was.”

Mitch took a few breaths, “I somehow don’t feel that great with this new knowledge.”

Stan smirked, turning from Mitch, walking for the bedroom. Mitch’s eyes widened as much as they could. “Stan, don’t go in there,” he ordered, trying his hardest to sound stern.

“Why? You said Olivia isn’t feeling too well. I’m just gonna see if she needs anything.”

Olivia heard Stan’s voice and immediately sat up, reaching over the side of the bed to yank her discarded night shirt on. She forced her legs under the sheets, laying down, trying to look ill. She was flushed already, so she was sure that her act would be bought. 

Stan entered the room just as Olivia was getting herself situated, his eyebrow raised suspiciously. “Hello, you must be Olivia.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes, hello. You must be the illustrious Stan I’ve heard so little about.”

Stan mimicked her nod. Mitch, who had joined them, was looking between the two with evident concern. He was impressed that Olivia had managed to get herself decent before Stan had walked into the room, but he couldn't help feeling like a teenager getting caught with a girl by his father. 

Stan sighed, “you don’t talk about me Mitch? That’s not very nice. I always tell people about you.”

Mitch rolled his eyes, “my apologies, Stan.”

Stan surveyed the room, taking note of the bed and suitcase at the foot of it. He was mildly impressed that the two hadn’t completely dishevelled the place. “I heard you weren’t feeling well, Olivia?”

She frowned, “no. I have a bit of a stomach ache.”

He eyed Olivia and then her nightstand, acknowledging the small stack of books. Stan figured they must be the ones Mitch had mentioned during their last meeting. He was readying himself to leave the room when his eyes got caught by a pair of underwear discarded beside the bed. He chuckled, nodding to them. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you put your underwear back on, sweetheart.” He tapped Mitch’s arm, “living room.”

Olivia’s cheeks flushed a deep red, her and Mitch’s eyes meeting. He kept from snickering, shrugging his shoulders at her. The two men left the room, and Mitch pulled the door shut behind him. He didn’t need Olivia hearing anything they were about to discuss. He further didn’t need Stan making any more comments to her. 

The two took seats on the couch, Mitch leaning his good side against the back, his body turned so he could be facing Stan. Stan folded his hands together in his lap, taking a moment to observe the hotel room like it was the first time he’d ever seen it. “So,” Stan said in a sigh. “How long have the two of you been sleeping together, Rapp? I thought she was just a job?”

Mitch rolled his eyes, “we aren’t sleeping together, Sir. She _is_ just a job. I sleep out here on the couch. You caught me while I was trying to get dressed. I keep my clothes in her room and that’s it. Her underwear being on the floor was just a coincidence. I’m sure she just forgot to pick them up while she was straightening up last night.”

Stan nodded thoughtfully, figuring that perhaps Mitch was telling the truth. “Well, that’s good then Rapp. I don’t need you two getting involved with each other. It’s grossly inappropriate.”

Mitch shrugged his shoulders trying to act like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. As if the last thing he would do was get involved with Olivia. Tried to act like he couldn’t still taste her on his tongue. “I wouldn’t do that, Sir.”

Stan gave Mitch a dubious look, figuring it best to drop the conversation at hand in favor of a more suitable one. “You never called me last night to brief me on your assignment,” Stan acknowledge, pulling his phone out to check his call log and reassure himself that he hadn’t simply missed a call.

“Which assignment, Sir?”

Stan rolled his eyes, “the one that isn’t half naked in your bed.”

“It’s her bed,” Mitch corrected.

Stan gave Mitch a look that could only be considered bitchy, in any circle. “What happened in the last three days, Mitch?”

“I got shot at, punched a good bit, and apparently I was cut at some point.” Mitch indicated the wound to his side, shrugging his shoulders like the whole ordeal was inconsequential. “I spent three days without food, sleep or a shower. It was entirely uneventful for the majority of my time, until I stumbled into the pit of it. I had no idea that there would be a meeting planned for the exact moment I decided to infiltrate their hide away. I tried posing as their entertainment but apparently they hadn’t hired any.” 

Stan knew that Mitch was being jovial about his last sentence but a part of him wanted to reprimand him for it anyway, “what did you say you were? A stripper?”

“Yes,” Mitch said matter-of-factly. 

Stan rolled his eyes at his protege, rubbing his wrinkled forehead tiredly. The two sat for a few beats without saying a word, Mitch anxious to get Stan out of his hotel room before any more accusations could be made. Stan reached between his back and the couch, Mitch’s fingers flexing in the direction of the gun he’d hidden between the couch cushions. He knew, in some recess of his brain that the gun was unnecessary, but some reflexes were impossible to tamper down. 

Mitch’s eyes trained themselves on Stan’s hand the second it reappeared, following his movements closely. Stan had produced two packets and dropped them onto the table with a dull slap. Mitch made to grab the papers, instinctively stopping his own hand before they had seized them. His fingers brushed over the packets before he withdrew his hand, turning a raised brow look at Stan. The question was unspoken amongst the two of them, and Mitch was nearly sure it would remain that way.    
“Are you going to tell me what those are, Stan?” Mitch wondered, aloud. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the couch, trying to keep his attention on Stan and not on the pieces of paper that were resting on the coffee table before him. Stan leant forward again, grabbing the papers off of the table. 

He carded through the papers in his hand, reading them over. Mitch could see him figuring out where he would start and what he would explain. “This is your order from Irene to return to headquarters in order to brief her on the assignment that you went on while you were here.”

Mitch took a deep breath, “ you’re going to have to specify which.”

“The one that has entirely taken over your life for the better part of a month. The one which involves babysitting a grown woman. The one which you’ve complained about every time I have had a talk with you.”

“What about the one that I handled in three days? Does she want me to brief her on that too?”

Stan shook his head, “no. You can write that report up on the plane ride back to Virginia. You’ll have plenty of time. I think the jet is going to be in the air for a grand total of nine hours. That should be more than enough time for you to fill out a report, right?”

Mitch shrugged, thinking back on all of the reports he had had to file thus far. He usually wrote the barest minimum in order for the basic events of the assignment to come across, getting reprimanded every time by Irene. He figured it would take nearly an hour to get completed, start to finish. “That will be fine,” Mitch agreed. 

Stan plucked Mitch’s ticket from the stack of papers, setting it back down onto the coffee table where it had just been. “Where is Olivia going?” Mitch wondered, attempting to stay in his indifferent tone. 

Stan smirked, plucking her ticket out of the other papers, letting it drop beside Mitch’s on the table. “She’s going with you to Virginia. The two of you are on the same flight, even. Isn’t that sweet?” Stan crossed his ankle on his knee. “The tech’s at headquarters managed to track down who this girl is. So,” Stan produced a passport, setting it atop the plane tickets. “Her new identity is in the passport, her first name remained the same to make it convenient for her, but. I had them change her last name to reduce the chances of any flags being raised. I taped her new ID card to the back of her passport.” 

Mitch uncrossed his arms, reaching over to pick up Olivia’s passport. He read over her information, furrowing his brows as his eyes scanned the laminated page. Stan handed a few slips of paper to Mitch, letting him read them over quickly. On the paper Mitch read her address and a few listings for past due bills that had been shut off. Mitch took in a deep breath, realizing that this meant that Olivia would be homeless. Or, utilitiless in the very least. He wondered what else she had lost while she had been in captivity, more or less. 

“So this is really her? This is where she lives?”

Stan shrugged, “no idea for sure but I assume so.” 

Mitch sighed, setting the papers down. Now he knew more about Olivia than she would ever know about him. 

Or, so he thinks. 


End file.
